Mémoire
by ShipperBody
Summary: mem.o.ry (n. pl. mem.o.ries) [from latin memoria] - the mental faculty of retaining and recalling past experience; the period of time covered by the remembrance or recollection of a person or group of people. Enjolras doesn't remember the barricade and he's broken, obscure and foreign to his own life. As he recovers them gradually, people are swallowed by grief - at least one is.
1. Loss

_**Enjolras & Èponine**__ - maybe some other pairings after some time._

_Romance / Drama/ Angst/ Friendship/ Humor (just a bit because Les Mis is all about feelings, so I can't help but make everyone feel! __**:'D**__)_

_Rated: starting as __**T**__, but it'll probably be rating up for reasons of spicy scenes and maybe some grue the time coming. Not sure yet. So'll stick to the T. I'll warn you when I feel like rating up.__** :D**_

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**Notes: Hello you guys! Can I tell you I'm so very excited with this fic that I can't help but keep on writing it? Really! I'm looking forward to continue it, no matter what. Although I might just vanish some times, I'll be back to update somewhat and I just can't help it! I'm quite proud of myself to have such a nice piece of plot - this never happened to me! :P **

**Sorry if I'm a bit full of it. I'm just soo nervous and so excited! I just blabber about it and can't stop!**

**I'll stop! I already stopped! *holding still to other thoughts not to start talking again about how amazing me wants this to be!***

**This is my first attempt at a fic about Les Misèrables and I did read the book, the schoolar version though, saw the movies and some of the musical/play. But I don't know if it's following well the characters because it's dark and it's very dramatic, but i just hope them to fit in. I've been reading many fanfictions about Les Amis and Les Mis for the matter and I based them around it, not very clear if they are, again, well written.**

**I only hope you guys like it, because I grew quite fond of it. I also hope you to show me your opinions about it, I don't even mind if you cryticize me! I'm quite good in listening, so I'll just stay out of your way and let you read it.**

**Please, review and show me your love if you feel anything while reading it. :D**

**Enjoy! :3**

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**Loss**

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His dark blue orbs shot open suddenly and he sat quickly on the bed. There was sweat dripping from his face to the white sheets and he felt hard throbs paining the side of his head, behind his right ear.

He was about to touch the area when a pair of shaky hands grabbed his wrist, ever so slightly, pulling it away from there. A voice called a _monsieur_ physician to come to him, but the lad couldn't make out where things were yet, nor could he say anything because his headache only turned more and more unbearable.

He saw a man in front of him, then, wearing a white cloak over his white bottom shirt, navy raincoat and black pants - all stained in blood and dust.

He heard the physician call a name, but he didn't know if the name was his because the throbbing deafened his senses. The man looked anguished at the person holding his wrist, not knowing what to do.

The blue irises crossed the large room full of candle lights and recovering beds until the figure of a very skinny and tiny _mademoiselle_, of dark brown locks and big chocolate eyes, was on his sight. She was the one with bony, caressing fingers holding him and she was crying out for the physician, desperately.

She caught his glimpse towards her and held his eyes for a moment long enough to see the tears and some mixture between relief and melancholia filling those big eyes of hers.

Although the merged emotions in her eyes, he felt comforted on them, even though he couldn't quite figure out why.

Another hard throb - he was out in the next, then.

•

He woke up less harshly this time. His eyes lazily opening, sharing the view of a well lit room of cream walls with many open windows and his dark blonde lashes in the way, blocking his eyes from everything else. His head still hurt badly, but not worse than the last time he was conscious.

He rubbed his eyes, feeling bandages around some of his fingers roughly against his Caucasian skin. He sat slowly in his bed, hearing the sheets complaining in his ears while he gazed the room with five other humble beds, all of them tidy and empty. The beds had the wooden, Christ's cross over each one of them, hanging on the walls. And by then he doesn't have to ask anyone where he was, because he knew, as a matter of fact, that room was inside a hospital and something had happened.

_Something extreme and awful_, he figured.

He managed to stand up and he felt the cold stone floor sending shivers through his warm body, but he wasn't much troubled about it. He just wanted to know what happened. He walked out of the room, then, on a light white robe, nothing else – he double checked the knot keeping him dressed because he _knew_ he'd be very self-conscious if someone else saw him naked.

He also _knew_ it wasn't clever walking out a hospital room in his state, but his head ached and he needed someone to attend him, anyway. Since no one was in the room, he wasn't the waiting type either; he went to get himself cared of.

He passed through the high marble door, finding out some nursing nuns all in white canonicals, walking lightly not to disturb the patients, but only on the end of the lengthy hallway – no one of them looked at his way, though.

He was going either to groan in pain, loudly, either in peeve for the lack of attendance to him. And he found out he didn't like to be kept waiting or to be ignored.

His eyes wandered his left, the side of the corridor full of doors while the other was full of high glassy windows, until her saw two acquaintances of his eyes. There were the physician and the _mademoiselle_ from the last time. Yet, the physician's clothes weren't dirty anymore, nor was he wearing his cloak. Instead, he wore dark clothes underneath the brown raincoat highlighting the auburn of his hair and his light green irises behind round glasses. Underneath the heavy layer of clothe, there was a red, white and blue flower.

He had seen it somewhere, _those colors_. He _knew_ he appreciated much more the carmine layer of petals, the red prominent on the dark shades.

However, the _mademoiselle_ wasn't much better than the momentarily invalid young _monsieur_. She wore a creamy camisole over her olive skin full of dry scars on the wrong places and some bandages stained in blood on her right hand and left shoulder. Her hair was pulled away from her left side, showing her neck and collar bone prominent, sharp edges showing. The physician was taking off the stained bandage on her shoulder to take a look at it.

He heard her make an uncomfortable noise when the monsieur pulled the last party of the rough clothe away, showing the black stitches troubling her moves. Her jaw clenched, but she didn't make any other face than the saddened one she wore since the last time they met. Her eyes low and filled of sorrow.

"One of them went loose." The physician sad, his voice tired. Then he sent the _mademoiselle_ a wary look "Can you _please_ rest after I stitch it again?"

The young lad didn't know he was moving until he paused in the doorway, his steps quiet as a shadow. The curious duo didn't notice his presence. Not yet, at least. They were too oblivious in their grieving, he figured leaning on his left shoulder against the door's garnish, feeling suddenly a sting in his collar bone. He paid more attention to the others than to him, this time.

The _mademoiselle_ eyes rolled upwards until they met the physician's face. She had a very intolerant gaze on them while an eyebrow arched deepening the meaning of her annoyed face.

"I _can't_ worry, I _can't_ leave, I _can't_ even move anymore!" her voice raspy and mourning. The tall monsieur was sat on a chair in front of her, pulling the loosen edge with forceps and bringing the entire thread with him. She didn't move nor winced "I need to get out of here, _Monsieur_…" She replied, turning her face towards the window in the end of the empty room.

"You need to get better first, _Mademoiselle_." He answered his voice low and almost in a melody. Very familiar for the spying lad "And the way you're," she turned to him again, waiting for him to finish his sentence "It's going to take awhile." She was about to throw herself in the bed, snoring about his orders, but the physician had a firm grip on her arm and steadied her, making her face his eyes again "You _have to_ get better soon."

She huffed, standing still as the physician stitched her bruise again; taking his time "I wanted to be _there_." She faces downwards, her hair falling.

"I don't." she glanced at him, confused by his answer. He continued without facing her "I wanted to be with them, either way." The realization crossed her features and she was looking down again. They stopped talking while he continued his healing.

_Who died?_ The blonde man on the door wanted to wonder out loud, but he was very distracted with the physician patching the _mademoiselle_. He even forgot he had a headache, because the left of his collar bone was bothering him now and the sting became an acute pain.

"All set up." The physician exclaimed after changing the bandages of her right hand.

"_Merci, Monsieur_." She replied, dryly.

"Now, I…"

The blonde didn't hear what the _monsieur_ had to say, because that thing on his collar bone was very painful and he finally glanced at it. He had a bandage on it, and stained with blood right below the collar bone.

He groaned and the duo turned at him, startled, but they managed to get more shocked, with their eyes wide open and mouths gaping in his presence. The physician forgot about his brown, medical bag on the bench and stood up, trembling and bumping in his own big feet. Much taller than the blonde, bruised man was.

In his green eyes the startle became astonished and there was relief in his smile.

"You're awake…" he managed and the blonde nodded, slowly, quite worried about their reaction. He didn't remember him to be so close with the physician "Good Lord, you _are_ awake!" the next thing the physician did was glare at his bruises "We need to change your bandages." He said, but was rather happy to see him "It's so good to see you, my friend."

The blonde didn't notice the _mademoiselle_ walking towards them until he looked elsewhere than the tall monsieur in front of him, and met the crying brunette had the ghost of a smile in her features, the tears streaming down her dark skin and designing strange patterns through small scars. She was in deep grief, he figured.

But he caught a name from her lips when she approached him "Enjolras…" and he figured he was completely lost.

Enjolras was his name, alright, but what about the rest? What about everything? He didn't know. All he remembers is the last time he saw those two and nothing else before.

_God in Heaven_, what happened to him?

"Urgh…" Enjolras groaned again, almost touching the aching place with his palm as if it would stop it.

"Your painkillers are off. I see." The physician was worried, but not so much to carry him. He just led Enjolras back to his room and laid him on his bed again.

The _mademoiselle_ was behind them both, moving very slightly as if she didn't want to be seen. She had so much suffering behind though hazel eyes of hers that between those quiet minutes having around her Enjolras thought best that she had her reasons to walk in the shadows like that.

If it was night in that hospital and the young monsieur didn't know the girl was very alive, he'd probably say she was a ghost from a deceased patient.

He was placed back in his bed, feeling the pain in his left side hardening while the physician took a sit next to him and started to undo the bandages to get a fine look at his bruise, although the blonde wasn't aware of the extent of the injury – he figured it should be something small quite similar to the brunette's bruises, even if he felt his body was moving without grace as he felt some other places at his torso, feeling the fabric of the bandages around him.

He got a quick look at the _mademoiselle_ behind the other young lad and saw her concerned eyes at his face, not looking anywhere else. It felt a bit awkward at first, but as Enjolras stood there, holding her gaze, he started to see a whole new fractions of feelings filling her sorrow chocolate eyes – bitter, wonder, grief, joy, loathe even. And there was this expression of puzzle in those saddened eyes of hers, as if something was very wrong and it wasn't exactly with her.

"Ow." Enjolras finally managed to break the silence as the physician, a friend he didn't remember, pulled the string stained in blood and hurt the flesh beneath it. His eyes went to the bruise and saw it, finally, getting shocked at how big it was – very similar to the slash of a sword, crossing his collar bone from the front to his back, seeing the black stitches in between the blood and flesh not even starting to heal. It didn't smell bad, though, even if the sight was horrible and made his stomach grumble.

"Sorry about that." Replied the self-conscious physician, very ware of how brute he was "It looks good." Enjolras glared at the monsieur taking care of him, mentally throwing daggers at his face "I'm serious. It looks good and it's clean, so it'll start to heal as soon as you eat proper food and some vitamins to make your organism work." And there was a small smile in the physician face as he wrapped a clean bandage at the injury, looking away from his friend's face "I must say your codename as the _marble_ _man_ couldn't be more appropriate."

_Marble man_ rang a bell, but Enjolras didn't remember how he got this or when. He remembered nothing before the last time he saw the duo. He had nothing in his mind, he was completely lost. And, even if he felt like he was stepping in dangerous ground there, he had to say something about his sudden lost of tracks.

_Who was he? Who were the man and the woman in front of him? What happened? Why the grieving feeling in his chest wouldn't go away?_

"You _don't_ remember." The statement startled both men, forcing them to turn their heads to the girl behind the physician. She stared in widened eyes at Enjolras and the blonde gulped, wary of the deep tone in her voice. Something in it blamed him for so many things he couldn't even begin to explain how he knew, but he did and that was enough to start sending worry to his tired bones.

The physician broke the silence that took a few seconds in their small group "Do you think Enjolras would stay silent if he did not recognized something or someone, _Éponine_?" the voice in the friend was rather crude and unhappy at that, almost insulted. Yet, Enjolras was more concerned at the name the _monsieur_ called the _mademoiselle_.

_Éponine._

He knew that name, he did. He didn't remember much, but seeing her face and her eyes, and how expectant she looked at him, waiting anxiously for his words, remembered him of the sting in his head, how inappropriate it was at the very moment things were making sense he felt the ache again.

His right hand went to the side of his head, feeling a lump beneath thick bandages and some stitches in that. That's were it hurt and touching it just made the pain a little more unbearable.

"_Just look at him_." Her raspy voice said again, a disbelief and bitterness underneath the cry in her throat. The eyes fell over Enjolras and he felt self-conscious for a fraction of time, still feeling the thud in the lump behind his ear "_Monsieur_ _Joly_, he's completely out of it!" the physician, Joly, Enjolras assumed, glanced his green eyes at the invalid monsieur, seeing as his concern became more and more tangible. Joly was somewhere between bewildered and drained, as if Enjolras lack of memory was the cherry top in his pile of troubles.

His bright eyes were down, then, showing how mournful he was before he had seen his obviously friend, even if Enjolras didn't remember him, his large arms falling limp next to his body forcing his posture to crook in the backless bench, suddenly seeing what Éponine saw in his friend.

"Enjolras." Joly said, as if to confirm his thought and the blonde turned his deep blue orbs to his green ones, sharing a very painful expression between them "Do you remember what happened?" Enjolras was confused by his question. _What happened when? _"Enjolras, please, say something. I _need_ you to say _something_!" he was desperate, his eyes dying in hope and the girl almost snorted behind him.

"I do not know." he replied, feeling his headache aggravating. His voice was deep and he saw the expression through the duo faces, as they had just been stabbed in their back – at least Éponine had it, her hazel eyes completely distraught "I do not remember." He said slowly, then, listening to his own voice through thuds in his ear.

The girl stormed out of the room, holding a sob. Joly didn't move, too shocked to even think of that. He had his breathing unsteady and his hands were shaking badly, just as the rest of his body. It seemed he had been through that many nervous reactions before, but Enjolras couldn't stop worrying about his pale face and the deep purple circles around his tired eyes.

He looked completely destroyed, then, as if nothing could ever go back to normal. And Joly couldn't even get on his feet to storm of and cry like Éponine just did. He felt useless, in the end, and he didn't even think of leaving the hospital anymore.

"I would not mind if anyone would tell me want happened." Enjolras made through the silence that fell in his room, managing to make Joly look at him again. His green eyes went back to the concern before he knew Enjolras had lost his memories and there was the physician again, trying to hold still behind a façade as if nothing had just happened.

Joly gave Enjolras a faint smile in his lips, grabbing something in the cabinet beside the invalid _monsieur's_ bed and taking the glass of water also there. It was a small pill, a medicine, and he stretched his trembling hand to the bruised friend, placing the white pill in his grip, sighing after it. The smile fade away and Enjolras saw a deadly serious gaze coming from the gentle physician "Take it and have some rest. We'll talk later." He didn't seem like his friend anymore "Just get better."

And before Enjolras could even reply something to his attempt at shutting down his curiosity, the friend, Joly, was out of his room, almost running, although he had dragged his right leg, almost if it was limp.

The blonde man decided to take the medicine, anyway, and felt the bitter taste in his mouth after taking a long time to drink it. And it didn't take long to have an effect in his aching body, forcing the man to fall back in his sleep, dreaming of a foggy and dusty pile of broke furniture, in the dawn of a cloudy day and there were few people behind that very barricade, trapped between it and the dead-end street.

Even if there were few, the people were agitated and singing, excited about something Enjolras saw him talking about. Something involving freedom and equality and fraternity, making everyone raise their muskets in the air, cheering and drinking. He saw two familiar faces between the crowd, the very _Monsieur_ Joly, standing by the entrance of a shop, leaning in the doorway and looking scared, but excited, smiling awkwardly at his friends.

The other familiar face was Éponine's, but she didn't look like a girl and he didn't know she was there. He thought she was someone else, a boy between the others, dressed in baggy, brown clothes with a cap hiding her brown hair, her eyes divided her attention in three spots around that trap Enjolras said in his dream was a safe place – she glanced between his angry speech about freedom, equality and fraternity; she gazed at a freckled brunette, of bubbly face and bright green eyes, who happened to stand close to him on the top of the barricade; and she stared at a little boy, with blonde and messed locks, carried in someone's shoulders, who laughed a crook smile at everyone and had this devilish blue eyes burning for a better future to everyone.

Suddenly it all went black and Enjolras found himself in despair, running and yelling to the others to go from there, to hide and to survive. He hard deafening shots, the loud thud in his head aching him and making him sweat. He didn't saw Joly or Éponine or the little boy, anymore. All he could see was a stair inside the house and some other boys were climbing it, being followed close by the blonde and distraught young man.

And when he hit the top of the stairs the dream skip a peace again, showing Enjolras holding a red flag in his bloody hand and glaring at a bunch of guards pointing muskets at him, ready to shoot him. He had a window behind him, but he didn't know what happened next.

He shot his eyes open in between unsteady breathes and tears spilling out his eyes. His head was throbbing but it was dark again, and he was alone in his room much like he was standing alone in front of all those guards.

He sat in his bed, glancing around, seeing he was alone still and he didn't know what to make of it. He was in complete pain and he needed someone to tell him it was only a nightmare, he had to believe it was only a nightmare.

_It felt so real…_ he wondered sitting and pulling his legs out of the bed, the bare feet feeling the cold from the floor rushing chills up his body. He stood up, a bit groggy about the medicine and he remembered Joly leaving the room and Éponine going away before he could even say anything.

He stood alone in the darkness and he could feel nothing more than despair, his head going back to the messed up dream, _nightmare_, which was so real he could feel it in his bones.

"Will you ever stop screaming while you sleep?" he heard a raspy voice and his eyes glanced up, seeing the silhouette of the brunette from before.

She was leaning in the wall across his bed, almost a ghost, in the shadow of the dark room. Even though, he could see her sad eyes and the bewilderment underneath her scarred olive skin.

She was near him when he could possibly think in replying her, standing in front of him and sitting in the bed next to him "I didn't intend in disturbing you." A roughness in his throat he didn't notice before. He reached for the glass of water in his cabinet and drank all of it, feeling it wasn't enough "I can't control myself while unconscious. Not yet, at least." Even in his physical state, he could be a little crude to the snarky woman invading his quarters.

She didn't look like she cared about how he spoke to her. She still held this deep and cynical voice in her. She had a short and ironic laughter "Even losing your mind, you can still manage a smart answer. That _is_ you." She pretended to be stoic towards him, but he felt she couldn't.

"You know quite something about my personality, I assume." Although formal, he didn't feel very out of him. He was comfortable speaking like that, he liked to speak formally and the woman in front of him knew this.

"You don't need to. I'm nothing to you." He felt the bitterness spitting out of her, the deception rising between them. She was blunt and she didn't care if she was hurting him. Enjolras knew by the way Éponine was talking; she was in her right to feel the way she felt, she was in her right to feel this way towards him, even though Enjolras hadn't made out yet the reason "Nor were those people you forgot." She reminded him about his loss and his eyes stared daggers at her.

"I _did not_ choose to forget anyone." His brows furrowing deeper and his eyes catching every movement she made across from him, she was crooked near him, forcing her deep and guilty gaze to reach him "I would never do such a thing out of will."

"You think you wouldn't because you _do not_ remember!" she replied snarky. Her eyes were shield against his aggressive ones, or they were already used to suffering. It didn't matter his reasons, she would not hear to him because she was grieving deeply, sank in a river without hope.

He remembered how shocked she was when he stated that he didn't remember indeed, and she ran away from him, her hopes apart from everything she dreamed of after whatever happened.

"How _could_ you?" and Enjolras was about to reply her, but she reformulated, rising to her small and bare feet in a rage, approaching him and looking him down "How _dare_ you?!" Enjolras thought for a brief and would say something, but she continued not caring for his explanations "Your beautiful words and speeches full of _liberté_, _egalité_, _fraternité_ were all lies! You lied and you didn't stick to the _fraternité_! You forgot all of them! You forgot your friends!" now it was disturbing.

"I would never lie." He stated clearly answering every word she told him. She snorted, but Enjolras continued to speak because she wouldn't let him say anything after her outburst and the man didn't like to be interrupted "How can you say I forgot all of them? You _do not_ know what happened to me." He replied bluntly, out of despise and as a guess, and she gaped for a second, making him curious about that.

For a bit of a moment he made her speechless.

"You don't know either." She replied, anger in her narrowed hazel eyes. Enjolras stood up, ignoring the throbbing in his head. It was bearable for now, at least. He noticed he was taller than her and also noticed she didn't like having to glare at him upwardly "You _do not_ remember!" she insisted, hurting him, as if it would giver her something out of it.

"Then, enlighten me!" he felt his voice rising, his throat a bit rough again after his possibly yell at the young woman in front of him, younger than him at least, but with a mind as suffered and experienced as someone's close to _General Lamarque's_ age.

_General Lamarque?_ He thought to himself. That name. He remembered him, he remembered this man and he had something to do with the loss of memory that Enjolras was dealing with currently. However, everything went blurry and he couldn't place nothing either. He only new the man was old and was gone now, dead, in his coffin.

Éponine's deep gaze could dig a hole through his skull, he figured, seeing every feeling spilling out of her. She was quiet for sometime now, her eyes watering as she gaped, about to say something, and closed her mouth gulping her words back to her inner.

She did think before speaking, in the end.

"All clever things you say or whatever point I have in blaming you for everything won't bring them back." A tear running down her face alerted him and she looked downwards, her acute voice cracking "Nothing we do will ever bring them back." She had her shoulders shaking, her words hurting her. She didn't stop there, though, and Enjolras was shocked at how fragile she could be after being so stoic about everything "You're here, Joly's here, I'm here. Everyone is gone and you can't even grieve for them because you don't remember who they are or what they were to you." She turned around to leave.

"I'm sorry if I'm not able to grieve for them, if it's what is troubling you. I'm sorry I lost my memory and I'm sorry if this gives you the worst time of your life." She turned around, almost hatred could describe her expression beyond the unhappily one. She couldn't believe her very ears, or her eyes. Enjolras didn't let her begin to speak "I'm sorry about every pain you feel and I'm sorry I can't make up for whatever happened before. I do not know if my knowledge of what happened would give a chance to do something about it, but I would rather do something than feel this useless towards your disappointment."

She shook her head, disapprovingly, showing him how utterly wrong he was "It was never so easy to lie, wasn't it?" she rubbed her eyes furiously, clenching her jaw and gritting her teeth "Even if you had a chance to do something, you would do it again! You would start a revolution again and you would manipulate everyone out there to fight with you the revolution that led to nothing and won't lead to naught!" she spit the words, tears never stopping streaming down her face, the words sinking in Enjolras deep thoughts.

_Revolution_. He remembered a revolution. He remembered something, but the rest was a blur. Éponine continued to speak though, and every word she said was a dagger in him, opening bruises scarred by his loss of memory. However, he couldn't place everything yet. He didn't know what to make out of this.

He was completely lost at everything she kept throwing at him and he couldn't manage to reply her attack.

"You said it yourself! Students can replace the others, it doesn't matter which one is fighting as long as he fights until the earth is free!" she was screaming louder now and there was a bit of a murmur outside his room, the nuns probably coming closer, but Éponine didn't stop her fury there "In the end of the day, Enjolras," she said his name with so much loathe he felt the urge to look away from her sorrowful face and hide himself. But he didn't. He couldn't after all. She was too near to ignore her "_Les Amis de L'Abaissé _can be replaced and there can be another revolution, and lies will keep on spilling out of your mouth until half Paris is dead because of your manipulative words!"

Enjolras couldn't answer that. He didn't know what she was saying, although it did hurt his soul. Éponine didn't stop it.

"The _Marble Man_ cannot be cracked, can he? He still has to lie and he has to make his revolution happen, no matter what, no matter the price." Now she said it, her hazel eyes clearly disappointed – was it at him or at herself, Enjolras couldn't say. He couldn't say much after all, he couldn't remember many things to defend himself, he was completely at a loss of words and he couldn't help sinking in deeply in a guilt that was dragging him to the bottom of hell, even if he hadn't known exactly why.

The nuns burst through the door, six of them, showing their faces and chastising Éponine for getting out of her room and sneaking into a man's room, in the middle of the night, screaming and disturbing everyone around. It was a hospital, in the end, and the women didn't seem to be very fond of the girl either.

Enjolras felt the need to say something because the women were grabbing Éponine's arms and pulling her to the door, reprimanding her and telling her she should've been grateful for being let to stay here. The nuns threatened her, telling she'd be expelled if she did that again, but Éponine's eyes didn't flinch from their direction.

They were still locked with Enjolras'.

"_Monsieur_, we're terribly sorry for the _gamine_!" one of the couple of nuns that stayed in his room to give him some medicine said, bowing her head slightly and the other one did the same, both of them very regretful "We should've kept an eye on that little one! She has been a troublemaker to-"

"I appreciate your worries, sisters, but there was no need to drag her like that." Enjolras said, feeling his inner ache as the sisters seemed a bit scared at his stare towards them "She's just as bruised as I am and she isn't to blame." The women before him were speechless "She's been through so much pain and you still say she's a troublemaker."

"_Monsieur_-" Enjolras sat on his bed, feeling his headache becoming stronger.

"My head hurts." He stated clearly, his eyes shooting daggers at the older nun who started to talk to him. He clearly didn't want to talk about that now and the nun said nothing, because she was there to take care of him and make him better.

"Here." The other, thought, grabbed the medicine and gave to Enjolras to drink, sipping on his water after ingesting the white and big pill "You'll have this and you'll be able to sleep a little more, and your pain will go away."

"_Merci_." He said appreciative and the nun did a little curtsy to him, bowing her head after "Can you tell me what happened to my head?" he had to know soon or later, anyway.

The older nun glared at the younger one who was about to say, but she kept quiet. The nun that treated badly Éponine, though, started her explanation for the blonde, handsome young man; bruised in his bed like any other patient "You were shot in many places." Enjolras frowned at this. He was _shot_! Something like that didn't happen out of the blue "The bullet brushed past behind your ear, but the impact caused a severe damage at your skull. You look well, though, reacting and speaking and walking and feeling, but it seems to have caused you some lack of…" she had a loss of word, as if she searched for something missing on him.

"Maybe, lack of memory?" the woman nodded then, a bit saddened at that. Enjolras nodded, understanding the meaning of it.

"I'm sorry, _Monsieur_." The older one said, bowing her head.

"No need to be." He replied after a yawn, feeling the medicine taking effect on him again.

"But you might have it back." The young one said and Enjolras listened to her, carefully, feeling dizzy "When you get the majority of your bruises healed, you can do things you did before. You must have a friend out there, they'll help you. A family, even. I'm sure you'll be able to get your memory back." Although her gleefulness was sure to keep him awake and faithful, Enjolras turned around to lie on his bed.

"_Merci_, sisters." He said to them, feeling someone pulling a cover over him.

Although very delightful to have his memories back, Enjolras couldn't let himself to forget Éponine's words.

Enjolras wasn't sure if he wanted to remember.


	2. Grief

_**Enjolras & Èponine**__ - maybe some other pairings after some time._

_Romance / Drama/ Angst/ Friendship/ Humor (just a bit because Les Mis is all about feelings, so I can't help but make everyone feel! __**:'D**__)_

_Rated: starting as __**T**__, but it'll probably be rating up for reasons of spicy scenes and maybe some grue the time coming. Not sure yet. So'll stick to the T. I'll warn you when I feel like rating up.__** :D**_

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**Notes: Thank you so much for the amazing feedback! I know I'm in no position to complain, but you guys would make me the happiest person if you shared your opinion with me. I'm being honest here, so be honest to me too! :3**

**Éponine is being a bit bitchy, isn't she? Everything has an explanation, my dear fellow, and this chapter shall lead the begining of it - not sure if it'll be short or not.**

**All I have to say is I'm indeed extremely happy and encouraged due all you had a hard working following my fanfiction and some having it as favorite! I'm serious!**

**Just tell me what you think. Friendly chapter this one. **

**Hope you enjoy it! :3**

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**Grief**

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"I heard _Mademoiselle_ Éponine paid you a visit last night." Enjolras was in bed, under his sheets, when he heard the familiar voice from Joly, the physician. He came in his room with his bag, wearing his simple clothes from the day before.

Joly seemed a bit embarrassed about Enjolras looking through the ceiling, having his deep thoughts disturbed by the physician who was supposed to be his grieving friend to something that happened because Enjolras was possibly a selfish bastard and manipulative too, who made his friends fight a revolution and, apparently, have them all killed.

If anything, Joly should feel ashamed of Enjolras and not himself for intruding his thoughts.

"We had quite the argument." Enjolras replied bluntly, glancing at his friend sideways, not really feeling the need to sit down and talk to him.

The gentleman took his seat beside him just like the day before and put his bag in the floor, a bit worried about that, but he brushed it away, gazing his green eyes at his lying bruised friend. Joly seemed tired above all things, with some red in the white of his eyes and purple circles rounding them, his face pale and his nose a bit red from crying, Enjolras deduced.

The friend put a small and sad smile in his lips, green eyes downwards and thinking of something to say, making the blonde's blue orbs wonder something else about the young man in front of him, the thing that bothered him the day before and he didn't had time to ask because he was left alone with his lost memory – Joly's leg should be injured from the revolution, Enjolras figured, sighting one of the long legs covered in brown pants stretched out a bit sideways to the position the young physician was sitting as facing the lying blonde man.

Joly followed his gaze to his leg and widened, opening his mouth and murmuring an understanding to the way Enjolras glared at him from his pillow "I'm injured from the barricade." The tall brunette pulled his lips into a one-sided smile while talking, his eyebrows rising and relaxing at the gesture, he even inclined his head sideways "It hurts a little, but I'll manage." He gulped after that and Enjolras thought he had seen it somewhere, probably the fear of getting some infection through his injuries or something like that, yet his attention was totally directed to the barricade note coming from his tall and grieving friend who had his posture a bit crooked and heavy shoulders "I got shot in my thigh, right here," he pointed the place and winced a bit at it. He was also pretty messed up like Enjolras and Éponine, but he still managed to get around and take care of them. Indeed, a very kind man "And some National Guards cut me with their swords here." He gestured to his torso, but quickly waved always, not very comfortable at that "Nothing serious, though I thought I would die with the shot and the bleeding away." He confessed, rubbing the back of his neck and giggling.

Enjolras felt his lips pulling sideways, into a quick smile of nostalgia. Joly was one to be restless about deeds involving his health – or everyone's health around him, to be exactly.

"Feisty one, isn't she?" Enjolras track of thoughts missed their goal when he heard Joly's words, wandering his eyes to the green ones again who had somewhat of a troubled mixture behind them "_Mademoiselle_ Éponine." His blue eyes understood now that his friend couldn't yet read his mind and he wasn't to blame Enjolras lost the tracks that would, or not, led him to his memories forgotten – well, Joly seemed also to have had some sort of an argument with Éponine because he ran a hand through his hair and had this exhausted eyes while speaking of the young lady the room next door "She won't let you get away with anything." He said with a sigh and Enjolras sat on his bed, a bit awkwardly and accepting the help from the tall friend, finally nodding and agreeing with his words.

"My thoughts exactly." Enjolras said as a matter of fact and Joly let a laugh come out of his mouth usually pointing downwards, and he patted the friend in the back, careful not to accidently touch the injured area.

"She's a tough young lady." Joly said and Enjolras already knew that - he had plenty of her toughness the last night "You shouldn't really pay attention to what she tells you now." Now this made the blonde man furrow his eyebrows and Joly raised his hands in the air, in sign of peace "I know, I know. You want to smack me right now; however you must take in regard the shock she went through. She's mourning so many people and things were always complicated to her. So never mind whatever she told you yesterday."

Enjolras sighed heavily, passing a hand through his curly hair and getting stuck with some stupid knots. He pushed through and felt the acute pain of pulling hair, but he didn't worry about it. He was thinking about Joly's request.

How could he never mind about all those things she told him the last night?

"I do not think I can do that." Enjolras replied, gazing his wondering deep blue eyes elsewhere but the physician's face "Those words had logic to me. I do not see how I will not ever mind about them." Joly sighed and Enjolras looked at his tired face again.

"My friend, those were words of a hurting girl." He didn't mean any harm, Enjolras knew, but there was something burning already inside the blonde man that he couldn't let any understatement pass by him. He had to reply, no matter what cost.

"Does it make them any less true?" Joly paused at that, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his thick brows in concern, leaning closer to his friend and holding firmly at his arm.

"Enjolras, I don't know what happened here last night or what she told you." Joly answered carefully, almost whispering. But in contrast to his low voice, his green eyes had a determination that the blonde man never thought he'd ever see in the kind physician's eyes "If anyone is to blame, my friend, is the king." Enjolras blinked his blue eyes to Joly's statement, furrowing his brows and feeling a throb in his head.

_The King._ A King was to blame as the reason for Enjolras revolution and the death of many of his friends and, currently, Éponine's fury towards him. That was something that, indeed, made his mind blur more than before.

There was a point in the revolution against a King, Enjolras accepted that, yet, there were so many missing pieces and he wasn't even sure what truly happened in the revolution that killed his friends and was the cause he lost his mind. It was too unfortunate for such awful things to happen now.

"This is no time to speak about that fucking bastard." Joly stated moving away from the friend and breathing heavily, a bit irritated at the turn of their conversation. Enjolras breathed deeply, controlling the pain in his head. He wasn't very fond of the medicine he took to kill the pain since it would only take him back to sleep and he didn't want to sleep again without needing "I don't think you recovered your memories, am I right?" should he tell the physician about his dream of a barricade or should he just say no to his question? The dream wasn't very specific either way.

"I'm not sure." Enjolras stated annoyed and felt the throb again. If there was something that got in his nerves was to not be sure or not be aware of situations. He hated not to know something and he hated to be insecure. It pained him in the bones to have such a feeling.

Another throb in his head and he hissed low enough to Joly not mind about it.

"Don't push yourself, Enjolras." Joly said warmly, placing a lighthearted smile in his lips that didn't reach his eyes "In your current condition, you must rest." Joly patted him in the back again, carefully, and saw the furrow between Enjolras' eyebrows, grinning to it "I know you hate not being aware of things. You must deal with it, for now, and I promise you I'll help you get them back as soon as you get better." And there was the determination Enjolras saw before in the apple green eyes of his friend.

There was something about the tall and clumsy gentleman in front of him that gave Enjolras trust, confidence in the promise the friend gave him. Maybe that was the reason – he had a _friend_ who cared about him enough to promise him the help to find his lost memories in the current tempest going on in his head.

Enjolras nodded slightly, feeling the throb a little less painful after the reassurance coming from Joly and let a relieved sigh escape his lips he didn't know he was holding. He could trust someone, at least "_Merci_, my friend." And he saw the pale cheeks of the gentle physician becoming red at the title.

Joly smiled genuinely now, blushing and nodding enthusiastically at that and Enjolras found himself with the corners of his mouth twisted up. It was the first time he felt joy, at least what Enjolras could remember. It was a good thing to see his friend happy for a small fraction of time "You have no idea how it is good to see you, my friend. You really don't." there was the relief from the mournful young man in front of him "I'm so glad I'm even speechless." He laughed awkwardly and rubbed his face at that.

Enjolras saw the glister of tears in his face, even if Joly was trying his hardest to wipe them away before the blonde noticed them. Suddenly there were too many for Joly to keep on wiping them away, letting his face reddened from so much rubbing, and he looked down, ashamed from his sudden cry.

Then Enjolras realized there had been no such thing as time to mourn for his friends to the physician in front of him, who had been wounded and still managed to take care of Éponine and himself while unconscious. Joly didn't have time to rest his tired body from the battle and he didn't have time to cry over his friends, even if he had shed some tears before while coming from his room to Éponine's room. He was grieving, but he couldn't let himself be cared away because he had Enjolras with a serious head injury to worry and Éponine's toughness to handle.

It was obvious that Joly would burst at some point, he was even oblivious to the pain a shot could cause and he had it in his leg, still walking around as if he had only sprained it. He was only human and he managed to overcome it all just for the well-being of people he considered his friends, not asking anything in return.

_A precious soul to this sick world_ Enjolras thought to himself and before he could think twice, he had his left hand in Joly's shoulder, patting it in a comfortable pace for both of them and trying to let the weight in his shoulders fall off.

Joly was taken aback for a moment, not really expecting to be touched or comforted by Enjolras, but he didn't move. His tears flowed quickly now and he took off his glasses, placing them in the cabinet next to Enjolras' bed. He sniffed at the beginning, holding the sobs for awhile and, then, releasing them with anguish, trembling and inhaling deeply to retrieve the breath into his lungs. His lips trembled and he panted and Enjolras could only look at him with saddened eyes.

He should be just like Joly is, even worst, but he couldn't find it in him to be this miserable. His forehead was wrinkled since he couldn't help pulling down his eyebrows to the sight of his friend melting into mourning tears and even felt the urge to say something. What to say was the question ringing in his mind now and he couldn't find any word to make it feel better.

It would never feel better, however. Nothing is like it would be before and there was nothing Enjolras could say to make Joly feel any less sad.

Therefore, Enjolras leaned closer to his friend and tried to give him an awkward hug, to comfort the grieving young man, maybe to share his pain, to remember something or to just tell him he was there and that he could unburden himself next to him.

Joly hugged the friend back, not at all feeling awkward or ashamed about it. He held Enjolras firmly, his big and clumsy arms away from his bruises and trembling, his fists closed and his heart biting faster than drums. The blonde let out a sympathetic sigh and the brunette tried to say something, being unable due the never-ending sobs closing his throat and the air in him.

The last _Amis de L'Abaissé_ stood there, quiet and mourning for an hour or so, not really caring about the sick world around them. There were things needed to be taken care of, there would always be, however it was time to be sad and only be it. Nothing less; nothing more.

* * *

Joly stood the entire afternoon talking with Enjolras after he cried all he could for his lost friends, telling him how _Musichetta_, who was his mistress and an Opera singer, and some of her friends that knew the _Amis de L'Abaissé_ helped him to find appropriate tombs to bury them and also helped him to write for their families – even if most of the friends declined their wealth after joining the cause the revolution fought or having their wealthy parents disinherited them, afraid of the feedback it might've had caused them or having the family reputation put in steak, it would be better if they were aware of the death of the students.

Many letters to write caused Joly inflammation in the tendon and it hurts, he remembered Enjolras almost every moment they spoke, but it would go away if he had some medicines.

Joly also told Enjolras he was concerned about their stay in the hospital which couldn't postpone five days from their arrival, since the young physician was, yet, attending to the MedicalSchool and, therefore, not graduated. He didn't work in the hospital, another problem to go through it, but the nuns had him in after seeing how he got there caring him with Éponine's help and some kind gentlemen in their way there – a very long story full of awful moments in which Enjolras finally knew the reason his back hurt so much and the presence of dark purple bruises all over his arms.

The Lord's hand in it, of course, let the strict nuns allow them to stay for at least one week and they couldn't cause trouble to the other diseased patients. There was one more problem to add to their endless list of issues which was Joly being totally responsible for them, leading him to almost never leaving the hospital due the lack of medical attendance to him or Éponine.

"Yet the nuns came last night and took Éponine back to her room." Enjolras told him wondering the reasons for them to come – well, she was screaming and she might've been a little of trouble, but he didn't see why the nuns would ever mind about them.

"About that, they complained to me this morning." He said yawning, recalling the dull older nun telling him all she knew about them and that she wouldn't restrain herself the next time the _gamine_ did anything to disturb the peace.

"They even gave me medicine." Enjolras continued to tell him and Joly shrugged, a bit hesitant in what to answer.

"I guess they had compassion over your…" he cleaned his throat and the blonde man made a face "Condition. Obviously, trying to let you comfortable after dealing with _Mademoiselle_ Éponine." Enjolras could do with that.

And Joly explained they should leave in about two days because they wouldn't need to stay much more, besides there was the National Guard hunting down the living students from the barricades and they should lay low in somewhere safe.

"Though we also have a problem in there." Enjolras felt the throbbing pain coming back to the lump behind his right ear to, apparently, the fifth time Joly told him they had a problem. However, by seeing the almost tangible desperation in the green eyes, the blonde man nodded to the friend to continue "Someone is missing."

Enjolras frowned at that "What do you mean?" _who_ was missing?

"Well, while I was there to recognize the bodies of our friends," He gulped, a shade of pale green coming to his face showing Enjolras it wasn't the best moments of Joly's life "I couldn't find Marius." The green eyes glared hesitant at the deep blue orbs that seemed vague at that.

"How could a body go missing?" there was this unmistakable nonconformist voice coming from the blonde and Joly hissed at that "Are you really sure he was even there, Joly? He can't vanish like that."

"I know!" Joly assured Enjolras, confident of what he saw during the battle "He was there! He got shot and he fell! I saw him falling!" Joly looked down, the weight in his shoulders paining him "I know he was injured, Enjolras. It was an ugly thing to see."

Enjolras sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair and standing up, tightening the knot around his waist not to be naked in front of his friend. He walked around the large room – the only one the nuns had away from the patients which had the plague on them. Due to their many bruises and fleshy injuries, it was only fair for them to stay away as far as they could from the defected – at least this they could give them.

"Well, if he was shot and it was, indeed, an awful injury, he couldn't have gone anywhere far by himself." Enjolras stated as a matter of fact.

"No, my friend. He couldn't have gotten _anywhere_ by himself." Joly warned him, his expression depressing. Enjolras turned to face the lad, seeing how he tried his hardest to keep the tears away from his eyes "He fell unconscious."

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the headache he was trying so hard to control burst in his skull "Now, that is an issue." He grunted a bit too loud for his liking, which alerted Joly of his pain.

"Enjolras, get back to bed. You can't worry so much. You must rest." Joly warned him in a reprehensive tone, getting up slowly and feeling his leg aching.

"The both of us must rest and I haven't seen you doing it at all." He replied sharply, pulling his curls away from his face and grimacing at his injured friend across the room.

Joly rolled his eyes and crossed his chest "You're too stubborn for my delight." Joly snorted and grabbed his bag in the floor "I have to check on _Mademoiselle_ Éponine now. She wanted to know how the funeral was." he had this unwillingly expression in his face that told Enjolras he wasn't very comfortable in living "I can't even imagine what she's going to do when I tell her Marius is missing."

After that Enjolras felt a sudden burst of information involving this Marius and Éponine in his memories, memories that didn't have much to do with him, still in his mind, something for him to remember how this feisty little brunette was.

And he saw, as if he wasn't sharing his moment with Joly anymore, as if he stood in the room in the second store of the _café_ which was lit by many candles spread in the walls and over the furniture with many people around him. There was a low mumble, some words he had heard after loosing his memory – the king and the revolution and the barricade – around him, he had a very nice red waistcoat on him and a pistol near his hands leaning over the table.

There was a small moment when his head turned around and he saw this young man, of slightly orange and freckled skin next to him, dark hair and dreamy, travelling green eyes, wearing a blue coat and an infatuated face.

He tried to keep himself serious about the plans going on around the table in which Enjolras had been supporting his body, but his eyes used to wander far from there, not even blinking away from their position.

A voice called for _Marius_ and the freckled brunette next to him woke from his daydreaming, turning his head around to find out who had just talked to him and _Pontmercy_ – Enjolras recalled his last name because it was something those boys did: they called each other with their surnames – finally found the owner of the calling, making the blue eyes of the blonde wander until they finally landed at the petite figure on the stairs, gripping tightly the wooden balustrade.

She didn't look at all like the girl staying in the room next door in the hospital that sneaked in his and decided to charge him of guilty of all the worst that happened to them three days ago. She was very different from the bruised Éponine, all wrapped up in bandages and clean camisole, of sad and exhausted expressions.

That Éponine standing in the stairs had dirt all over her small body, with her long brown hair stiff and olive skin darker than the actual tone she had a couple days before. Her clothes, a green blouse and burgundy skirt with a brown belt in her waist to held the pieces together because it was baggy for her skinny figure, had moth holes and were crimpled, tore in the edges and filthy. Her bare feet were almost completely black from muck and the toes were calloused, although she didn't seem to mind.

She had this dreamy smile on her lips when she saw Marius making his way towards her and she had her bony hand behind her back, trying to control her joy on finally seeing him. Her chocolate brown irises glistened as he touched her bare arm and she widened her smile so her yellowed teeth was appealing and her dimples showed in her prominent cheek bones.

Enjolras realized she felt something towards him, but as he gazed back at the freckled man he didn't see the same feeling flowing from him, even if he had this goofy smile on his face and called her _Ponine_.

"_Did you find her?!_" Enjolras listened to the excited voice coming from Pontmercy and then his eyes were over the petite mademoiselle, catching her eyes faltering and her posture hunching over it.

He saw the hesitance in her reply, but she brushed it away and managed a smile in return while nodding to the young man in front of her, a smile that never reached her hazel eyes.

Both pair of eyes, green and brown, were suddenly in Enjolras face, waiting for him to say something about Marius fleeing from there and about Éponine to be intruding on their reunion. However, all that the blonde man did was snort and grimace.

Soon after that, Marius was running down the stairs and Éponine was close in his feet, but she gazed back at Enjolras with those brokenhearted orbs, the deep circles around the eyes and the brows slightly furrowed at him. He caught himself grimacing at her, which didn't take long before a sigh escape his lips and his eyes softened at her hurt look.

He knew she'd be irritated at him, but Enjolras couldn't help feeling pity at her for seeing Marius using her to get to the other girl. Because he and all their other friends knew about Éponine having feelings towards the freckled Pontmercy – they also knew he was completely oblivious to that.

She turned around to leave and Enjolras flashback was over, his wandering blue eyes were back at the hospital room and he could see Joly apprehensive glare at him – he had one eyebrow furrowed and one of his eyes was almost popping out. His glasses were back on, though, and his bag was in hands.

"Are you alright?" Joly managed to ask, taking short steps towards Enjolras who breathed deeply, astonished at how he recalled that moment in the café.

It was sort of incredible.

"Enjolras?" Joly called him again and Enjolras let himself smile small.

"Joly." Enjolras said startling the student that widened his both eyes in return, paying attention to the commanding sound of his voice "I know Pontmercy!"

"We all knew Pontmercy. He was quite the revolutionary before he met – _Huh_?!" and Joly, a bit oblivious to what Enjolras said, realized what the friend meant, letting the biggest smile spread in his lips to the big news "You _remembered_ him?!" Enjolras nodded, a genuine smile settle on his lips, and Joly suddenly was hugging the friend much smaller than himself "You remembered Pontmercy!"

"My shoulder…" Enjolras complained feeling the sting in his collarbone and Joly let him go, apologizing for it "Calm down. I don't remember much, but I remember how he was at least."

Joly shrugged, the smile never leaving his tired face "Better than nothing, my friend!"

"And I wish you the best of luck while telling Éponine about his body missing." He said it with honesty in his voice; he was serious about it, although Joly didn't quite get his earnest.

"So much for friendship." Joly scoffed shaking his head and turning around to leave, dragging his injured leg along. Enjolras didn't get his sudden temper "And here was I thinking you would suggest tagging along."

Enjolras cleaned his throat, uncomfortable about it "I do not believe she wants to see me. And I do not believe she would let me go unharmed if I'm there with you when you tell her about Pontmercy." Joly glanced at him over his shoulder, sour about going alone to face Éponine.

"I always knew you were afraid of women, Enjolras." Joly teased before leaving the room and closing the door.

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"What?!" her voice was raspy and she sounded desperate "Marius is _missing_?!"

She was desperate and angry, so angry she could punch the wall if she had a hand in a decent condition of smacking something or someone – one of her hands was sprained and the other tried to detain the shot from hitting Marius in the barricade, so it had a whole closer to the edge of it, aching a lot.

Her eyes were close to tears and she needed to get out of there because staying within four walls for so long without hitting the outside even once was suffocating her. Seeing the streets of Paris through a window was nothing to compare as seeing it from the alleyways. And even if she had a roof over her head right now, she knew it wasn't forever and it wouldn't keep her unharmed much longer.

Poor _monsieur_ Joly wasn't to blame, she knew that and she felt terrible after treating him so badly when he was being so good to her, taking care of her injuries and giving her a shelter until she was better. However, she didn't like to be his charity case – no one's charity case, for the matter.

She spotted him sitting in the bench by her bed, looking down and running his hand through his dark locks, as desperate as she was. He had been through so much burying the Amis by himself and sending those letters – he gave her a letter too which she was to deliver the _Thérnadiers_ after he would let her wander around Paris, to warn them about _Gavroche's_ death and where was his tomb so they could pay their condolences.

She swallowed the crying as she remembered the fact her little brother, barely twelve years old, of blonde messy hair and shiny green eyes, crooked yellowed teeth in his usual devilish smile, had bravely died in the wrong side of the barricade, looking after powder in the Guards' bodies.

If her parents were to know Gavroche was dead, they would do anything to mourn him because they deserted the little one when he had just left being a toddler in the merciless streets of Paris. The one thing they would probably do with the knowledge of his grave was getting him off his coffin and to sell it along his tomb. They would just throw his body in the sewers with the rest of the urchin of Paris because they were scum and that's exactly what they would do.

Éponine had already decided to tell nobody else about Gavroche, although she was sure she would visit him when Joly let her go. She would take the most beautiful flowers she could find and place it in his tomb, because he deserved it.

Going back to the awful news, how could Marius body go missing? What was wrong with that sick world she lived in for someone to kidnap his body?!

_What the hell is going on?!_

"Yes. He couldn't have gone anywhere by himself because, as I told you before, he was unconscious when I last saw him." The gentle monsieur replied the gamine, his eyes exhausted but patient. He massaged his neck, trying to release some burden of his back and closing his eyes "No one saw him when I was back at _Saint Michel_ yesterday. They said the remaining Guards set the bodies of the students aligned inside the _Café_, the Inspector checked on them and then left. I and Musichetta's friends were the only ones to move them after that. No one would take a lifeless body away."

Yes. What is the use of a lifeless body? Éponine didn't know, but there were many bewitch around Paris' darkest alleys and they did some black magic with some corpses sometimes. There were always insane people around and that Éponine was sure to her bones – she used to live with them and she used to call them _Mama_ and _Papa_.

_Unless…_ Éponine let Joly speak to himself for awhile, making her own theories that might not be all wrong. Well, she could at least try!

"Unless he's not dead!" she startled Joly who was interrupted in his monologue about how people would loot corpses whenever they fell and that Marius had a nice pocket to loot.

And for a moment Éponine thought she was being ridiculous about her feelings towards _Monsieur_ Marius. Even though he told her when everyone thought she was dead he wondered if his words of love could close her wounds, he couldn't be serious about it. She was dying and he wanted her to die the less miserable she could because he is a sweetheart or because he was probably feeling bad after she confessed her love for him while almost dying.

It doesn't make it any less ridiculous just because she loves him to think he's still alive. When she left the barricade with Enjolras unconscious in her arms and a hobbling Joly by her side, she hadn't seen him either. Jean Valjean might have taken him with the other bodies after she woke up. That made sense.

_He won't be alive just because you want him to be, Éponine. Stop being ridiculous!_

"_Mademoiselle_." Joly's careful voice rang in her ear and she turned around to face him again, she felt her cheeks reddening as he sighted the tracks of tears in her olive skin "I'd be mostly glad to know another friend of mine is alive." He had a deadly serious tone in his voice; his face was soft, though "However, it was a miracle for us three to leave the barricade without being caught. You know it."

"I know." she nodded, not really voicing the words.

"If he's alive, it's the smallest of possibilities and I don't think we're in emotional condition to fool ourselves." Éponine wasn't used to hear harsh words coming from Joly, not at all. They were dull and they practically smacked her dreams straight out of her face without her even having the time to further thinking about them. Nevertheless, he couldn't be more accurate. They were in no mental condition to delude themselves "If he's alive, we'll figure it out. If he's dead, we'll figure it out either way." He was certain about it and Éponine felt the reassurance burning inside of her, the symptom those schoolboys caused her when they talked about their dreams and promises.

_Their beautiful words… _

The skinny brunette sat down in front of the large and clumsy gentleman, sighing and letting some tears escape her eyes. She rubbed them away, her less wounded hand smoothing her scarred face.

"Did he remember anything?" Joly was startled by the sudden change of subject. He did let the small smile reach his lips, though.

"He remembered Marius." Éponine exclaimed soundless, her mouth opening and closing at that. She didn't really know what to think of it "I think he remembered you and him, though." Her chocolate orbs wandered to the green ones, seeing the smallest of suggestive glints in them, telling her something she should know how to respond or to brush it away.

She didn't have in her to reply kindly, though. Just speaking of him sent shivers down her spine and she wasn't really sure why – she didn't want to be sure of it. She narrowed her eyes "Good. I only hope him not to lie to me the next time, then."

Joly fought the urge to roll his eyes, aware it would only fire up the feisty _gamine_ in front of him "_Mademoiselle_, he couldn't have loose his memory willingly." Joly suggested, definitely not wanting to start an argument.

Éponine, on the contrary, wasn't really minding to argue with someone right now "I don't know if you remember it correctly, _Monsieur_ Joly, or if you lost your memory also…" she started, scoffing with the most serious tone she had ever used towards the physician. He grimaced at it, but let her continue "However, your friend in the room neighbor to this one promised he would never forget us. Am I right?" she paused waiting for Joly to correct her; he said nothing, though, and she continued "Now, I might not have gotten shot in my head, but I stick to my promises until I fulfill them. Or I'd rather die than breaking them." She stated abruptly, folding her arms over her chest and embracing herself for the answer to come.

"And, as a matter of fact, you had not been shot in the head." Joly stated bluntly, finishing their argument there, seeing how uneasy the _gamine_ got after it "If he was in his perfect state of mind, _Mademoiselle_, you know he would still remember and keep his promise." She unfolded her arms, letting them fall slowly and limp by her sides, uncomfortable as she recalled the argument from last night.

She was harsh with him because she never thought she would see him so… Lost. It was the closest to the _Armageddon_ seeing the fierce leader of the _Amis de L'Abaissé_ with that pitiful dim eyes, not matching at all with the beautiful and deep blue of his irises which could take anyone into his world of freedom, equality and fraternity – a beautiful place, indeed, a dream that would never be real if his owner had forgotten all about it.

How would little boys like Gavroche be able to attend school and be treated equally to the bourgeois children if nobody would join their cause? Would have a decent future, a free future, if the one fighter for it had lost the tracks of why he would do it?

Enjolras had forgotten the reasons he ended up in this hospital's bed and that was something Éponine hadn't find in her yet to forgive him, even if she knew it was the most childish and stupidest thing she could ever do towards the man who let her be someone who could make a difference and help fight for a better future for her little brother, her beloved little brother that grew up away from her because their parents were a bunch of irresponsible people and scum.

Things just lost their essence after Gavroche was killed and things suddenly were gone completely when Enjolras told her he didn't remembered and he was sorry for making her have the worst time of her life.

Little he knows about the worst time of her life. She was barely eighteen and she was having the least bad time of her life, and it was still pretty much messed up for becoming anything better anytime soon.

Little he sees Éponine is as broken as the furniture holding the barricade – she would hand over any given time and she didn't want Enjolras to fall again because she couldn't bear him. She wouldn't let him fall even if he had forgotten her a hundred times.

She had saved him, after all, and she could die with that triumph. She was successful in her promise to Grantaire and he wouldn't mind if she was to meet him in the after-life sooner than the expected.

_He wouldn't. Not at all._

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**Reviews make my day, so, please, leave some for me?! :3**


	3. Communion

**_Notes:_ Thank you so much for the feedback, guys. I'm so happy my cheeks hurt - I can't stop smiling, really! I've been writting this fic for five days now or something, and this fic and your love for it is all that's in my mind. I'm officially obsessed and I think the average update waiting for this one will be around two days long - for now at least. So, I can tell you all I put all my mind on it and I'll just be able to keep on the other fics of mine when I'm done with this one - or as long as the inspiration exists (then the hiatuses... :/)**

**But let's talk about happy things! This chapter, many feelings, I gotta say! :3 So, you'll just have to prepare yourselves.**

**I see many of you are following, and I'm glad, but reviews are really my soft spot - so if you want a happy writer, tell me all your thoughts of Mémoire and I promise you the chapters will come sooner. :3**

**Without further ado, enjoy. :D **

* * *

**Communion**

* * *

"What do you think of it?" It was all that Joly asked them after his long speech after the quiet dinner.

He had decided it was time for Enjolras and Éponine to settle their differences aside – including the fact that Enjolras had lost his memory – and to act like grown up. Or try to, at least, because the next day they would have to leave the hospital and, wanting or not, they would have to live together under the same roof to stay away from unwanted attention.

That was the main reason Joly settled a round table in the middle of the former leader's room, since it was bigger than Éponine's room, and they could share a decent meal in good company – maybe they would just forget they had ever argued before and just try to get along again.

_Ancient stories…_

Not exactly, since the only sounds during their entire soup dinner was from their breathings and the silver spoons touching the porcelain. Not pleasant at all. Not to mention the tangible tension you could cut with a knife between the marble, curly haired blonde man and the feisty brunette that didn't even gaze at each other.

_This has to stop at some point! _Joly tried to get calm, smiling gawky at the scenery and trying to pull silly subjects in the table, to get them both to speak. Which, by the way, he had no reaction at all – except for the stale blue eyes glaring ice or the hot staring daggers from the stormy hazel eyes across from him.

Then, after they all had cleaned their plates in a cumbersome silence, Joly outspoken his idea, in a determined and annoyed voice, wearing down his glasses which meant he wasn't open to objections – after all, he was the one standing their meaningless argument and he had nothing to do with it.

"A house _outside_ Paris?!" the appalled acute voice forced the other two heads to face Éponine, wearing her unpleased expression, thin eyebrows knitted together "How can we leave Paris when we _know nothing_ about _Marius_?!" they could see her shoulders shaking and her arms stiffing at her side.

"We should send a letter to his grandfather." Joly answered her, patiently, and Enjolras only shifted the view of his cold, cautious eyes.

"And what do you expect to write in the letter?!" Éponine asked bluntly, panting nostrils and moving recklessly in her chair "_Monsieur_ Gillenormand, I apologize for disturbing your lovely summer days with such unfortunate news. However, your grandson, who _might_ be dead, has disappeared since he was last seen in the barricade!" she scoffed, pulling herself on her feet, stepping on her unfitting camisole.

"Éponine…" Joly tried, but she didn't let him speak.

"He was your friend, _Monsieur_!" she accused him, swallowing thickly any kind of weakness. Her eyes darted to Enjolras who expected her to involve him in this "Friend for both of you!" she narrowed her eyes to Enjolras and he held her gaze "Even if you don't remember him, doesn't change the fact he was fighting for something you defended more than your own lives!"

"Enough, Éponine." Joly told her, carefully, and she glanced at him sideways.

"_Enough_ was a word I used a lot some days ago, _Monsieur_." She drove her stormy brown irises back to Enjolras and he clenched his jaw "I said it many times especially to _you_." Éponine lifted her chin high, trying to glare at Enjolras from above.

"Éponine…" Joly was about to say something again, but it was time for Enjolras to interrupt him while raising a hand and standing up, never looking away at Éponine. He wore a posture he had used many times to defend fiercely his arguments over many subjects – the defense of his beliefs. He used to win the arguments after it, although making many people angry at the way he said them "Good Lord, here we go…" Joly leaned at the back of his chair and covered his face with his hands.

"As I told you before, _Mademoiselle_, and I believe you do remember," his deep voice engulfed the room, his sharply tone strictly directed to Éponine and she felt her heart flipping in her chest. His thick blonde brows furrowed and his stale eyes looking down at her "I have never had the intention of forgetting anyone, _including_ Marius Pontmercy." Enjolras enjoyed talking this way, exhibiting his deep thoughts in meaningful words. He didn't mind doing so and he spoke as if he had done it his entire life – it might just be true – he had to make Éponine understand he couldn't lie to her, he couldn't tell her things she wanted to hear because it would spare him the trouble of arguing or being annoyed. He had to be convincing "Now, if you would listen to me carefully, I agree with you about the letter to _Monsieur_ Gillenormand." And Enjolras darted his eyes to Joly quickly, who wasn't very glad at that, going back to her face soon after, seeing the puzzled expression taking over the distraught grim "However, we obviously cannot stay here."

"Because we were all supposed to be _dead_!" Éponine scoffed, angry.

"That's not the point." Enjolras didn't skip and it made her blood boil – he had just discarded her without ceremony.

"Of course it is!" She insisted, folding her arms at his deadly stare "If our bodies weren't missing, then, we wouldn't have the National Guard behind us!" Enjolras shook his head and turned to Joly who was almost amused at their bickering.

"I do not believe the National Guard to know exactly who we are. If I'm correct," Enjolras leaned a hand over the table, his polished posture smoothly inclining his head towards Joly while he spoke, and giving the friend the most nostalgic moment he's had since the marble man had recovered "They have the knowledge of our names, not our appearance." His brows arched waiting for Joly's word. Éponine was gasping in his back, mildly shocked at Enjolras' capability of being calculative at times like this when a dead friend was missing.

Enjolras gestured for a mesmerized Joly to say something and the clumsy friend gulped, nodding "I-I guess, yes." _He's back!_ Joly's thoughts were in awe to his leader-friend, putting his index finger in his lips as he walked around the table, thinking of what to do.

"Then, what?! They don't know how we look, yeah – but they know people _are_ missing!" Éponine pushed, frowning deeply.

"They will take a while to get to us until they are certain who we are."

"Oh, _really_?" Éponine stepped towards Enjolras until she was fully under his gaze, in front of him, forcing he head up and narrowing her eyes, her posture mimicking his with one hand over the table and the other, as a flourish of her own, in her tiny waist. Sarcasm spilling out of her "What makes you _so_ sure they won't just sent the dogs after us when they had us figured out?!"

Although not appreciating her mocking tone, Enjolras pushed him off the table, controlling an annoyed and painful throb behind his ear – also a grimace over Éponine disbelief in his words.

However, before Enjolras could've had time enough to think of an answer for Éponine, his mind went on an automatic reply starting a rush through his entire body and boiling his blood "They are in no position of exposing how the justice of the monarchy works." He felt his breathing a bit irregular and he felt another throb in his ear, then he leaned back in the table with both hands, feeling the room swirling around him.

He just had a flashback and it was a completely inappropriate one – one flashback which had him and someone of his family arguing about the monarchy, someone very intelligent and definitely educated, who had told him the King's justice couldn't be on another scandal and, as a way to cut the issue from the root, the police would do anything to silence any possible threat – even Enjolras' small revolutionary group would be annihilated.

Joly stood up quickly and stepped closer to the friend, putting his hand reassuringly in his back and Éponine was scared. She had only seen Enjolras that way once – and it was when she carried him back from the barricade, when he had a quick and painful conscious moment, when their gazes lock and she told him to keep holding on.

_"I won't forget you…" he grunted, fighting his heavy eyelids._

_"Of course you won't!" Éponine replied, pulling him the entire way through the narrow alley, Joly short behind them. She had tears in her eyes and she tried to stay calm, but her voice faltered and her body betrayed her "You're _Enjolras_! You do _not_ forget!" she said trying to be lighthearted, in vain – there was no way it would be a light situation. They were both shot and dragging themselves through narrow alleys while running away from an army! _Not light at all_!_

_"Éponine!" his deep voice full of restrained pain, he could still stop her from walking and saying anything. She paid attention to his fluttering dark blue eyes "I will not forget you." He swallowed thickly and grunted again, she pushed him to continued walking, but he held her there, pulling her back to gaze at her watering eyes "I promise!"_

And, yet, he did forget her.

_It's not time to think about it, Éponine!_ She mentally slapped herself, grabbing his arm to steady him while Joly told him to go back to bed, he had to rest, all those things Joly said about their wounds and they having strained themselves too much after those serious injuries.

"I'm alright." His voice pulled her out of her thoughts and he tried to pull himself from them.

"You're anything but alright, Enjolras!" Joly hissed, leading the blonde man to his bed.

"I'm telling you I'm _alright_." Enjolras said a bit rude, though Joly wasn't the one to complain about it.

"Stop being stubborn for once in your life and listen to people who care about you!" Éponine scolded him, feeling how he could barely walk by himself and thanking for Joly to be around or she wouldn't be able to carry him to any one of the beds.

Enjolras shook his head and tried effortlessly to free his arms from the duo, tightening his grip at one of the wooden chairs in the middle of the candle lit room and, steadying his feet flatly in the ground, feeling the cold turning down the heat waving through his body.

Apparently, he had became a marble statue and won't let go of the chair, then Joly decided to let go of him; Éponine wasn't sure about it, so she kept a firm grip around his forearm, feeling his muscle underneath his warm skin and focusing on something that wasn't related to how strong his arms seemed to be in her bony hands.

"I do not expect to hear this from you." Enjolras replied bluntly, looking down and trying to convince his mind the floor was still above him. He could hear Éponine gasping, though.

"Who else would you expect to hear from, then?" She questioned, offended "Joly's obviously too kind to tell you this and the ones who weren't afraid of your hot temper are dead!" she knew she was being harsh, but Éponine just couldn't be completely skeptical to his lack of sense.

A moment ago he was being the careful Enjolras, telling others what to think before acting and not to panic; now, when it comes to him, the first thing he do is push them away without regarding his own condition, without even thinking twice.

And she felt his head darting towards her direction, his jaw clenching and his cold irises having her in aim, shooting daggers at her soul and digging holes into her heart "I'm not _your_ burden." She could see his nostrils gaping and his shoulder trembling "I'm able to care for myself."

"Stop acting like you're less important than the others!" She approached him, not letting him look away from her, taking advantage of the fact he was giddy enough to dart his eyes away "You've done this once and it led you here." She didn't gesticulate because he'd probably stop looking at her face, so she just softened her expressions.

"And others to their death." He said swallowing the guilty and Éponine knew he only said that because she had told it earlier.

_Great_! She felt self-conscious now and regretful for bursting out on him the second night on the hospital.

"And you're _alive_!" she said determined, her face very close to his, her voice even. The fact that would force the leader to think about it and Éponine already knew how to answer all of his clever arguments from there.

"With no memory, it does not mean much." Enjolras was hurt and lost different from the fierce and naïve leader of _Les Amis_.

Éponine sighed lightly, noticing how he relaxed the grip on the chair and straightened his back, standing until he was much taller than her one more time. Behind them, Joly ran a hand through his hair as the other was safe still on his hips, tired enough to not mention his opinions at the moment.

"It's not true." She murmured to him, her eyes caringly and Enjolras was agog "You had remembered Marius and you had just remembered something now." He was puzzled by her, much more than before, with the same lost expression "You'll recover it all someday. You're already recovering."

"I thought you haven't accepted my apologies." He replied her, uncertain of her answer and Éponine felt her cheeks burn.

_Why is he so close?_ She blinked a few times and looked between them, making sure he was steady enough to step back and recover herself after giving away her soft heart.

She couldn't really hold a reputation for much longer, could she?

"Have you not?" Enjolras dared again, furrowing his eyebrows again, his eyes accusingly digging her mind.

Éponine sighed heavily, rubbing her forehead with her good hand and pulling her hair away from her face "I don't know." she admitted and she saw making a downcast raising brows.

And there was another cumbersome silence ruling the room, not even Joly dared to break it this time. He was too absorbed in thoughts of his own about their moving out of city and he still had visit Musichetta to give her the address to his knew residence – he would be out of city, but not so far away and he could come visit her anytime.

All of this if Enjolras was right about the King's Justice worried about scandals involving them and they did have time to hide and run away from them.

A loud and exhausted yawn came from the tall and gentle student who couldn't even finds words to apologize himself from the impolite gesture. Both brown and blue eyes were gazing at him and Joly knew he had just made a favor for all of them.

"You must rest, _Monsieur_." Éponine told him, not leaving Enjolras side due her concern of his unsteadiness.

"All of us, to be honest." He replied taking two steps to the duo, placing his hand at Enjolras good shoulder, patting him and forcing the curly haired man to glance at him "Will you be alright?"

Enjolras managed to make a grimace at his friend who made Joly smile amused at how the cautious and extremely intelligent former leader of a revolutionary group could be balky at times like this. Éponine rolled her eyes at the expression and lack of answer of Enjolras.

"We're taking the road tomorrow, anyway." Joly warned them both, taking a longer glare in the petite brunette next to the marble blonde, expecting her protests.

"If you say so." She arched her brows, obviously tired of that conversation "I'm not done about Marius, though." Pointing out for the physician not to forget.

"What do you think we should do, then?" Joly questioned rubbing the back of his neck and keeping his glasses in the pocket of his coat already around his torso.

Enjolras was between them, but he didn't make much effort to follow the exchange of looks. He just stood there listening and paying attention to the details – things that didn't require much head movement for awhile.

The brunette shrugged, her eyelids half closed her gaze towards the window showing the lights of Paris at night – poor, still beautiful.

"Maybe you could write his grandfather a letter." Both Enjolras and Joly looked at her curiously – _was she the wandering contradiction?_ "The old man loved him, so it will be better for all of us to just be honest." She sighed and thought about her dead brother and tried to place herself in the old man's skin "I'd like to know of my grandson, good or bad news."

And there was a big hand, soft and careful, smoothing her good shoulder, Joly could be noticed from anywhere "You have a great heart, Éponine." She heard his compliment and waved it off because it didn't fit her.

Not the true Éponine.

"Alright, then." Joly looked at Enjolras who had managed to turn and face them, a slightly pale skin in the candle light "I'll be back in the morning and I want you too wearing decent clothes." He demanded looking from Éponine to Enjolras and the girl was about to say something, but the physician stopped her "There's a bag in your room with some clothes that might fit you. Anything will do for now and when we get to the other town; we'll have custom made clothes. Is it alright for you?"

"You really shouldn't be so nice to me, _Monsieur_ Joly." Éponine said ashamed of his kindness, even if she knew it was all about kindness and he didn't have her as his charity case – she'd rather think that way or she wouldn't be able to accept anything from him, including his medical attendance and this was something she couldn't decline at this extreme moment of her life.

"But I'm and I'll always be. You saved my life. I'm indebted with you." Éponine thought again not to say anything stupid.

Little he knows about vital debts… If it was her father in her place, he'd extort everything Joly and his family had ever had just with the naïve words of this kind gentleman. And thinking about it, many men had become scum like her family because of her father.

Definitely, she had awful people as parents – evil people who had pleasure in seeing the others failing for them to grow in life.

"_Merci_." That was all she could reply in the end.

Joly told Enjolras he had brought some of his things from the Gorbeu and told him he'd like them to be ready early since they had to eat breakfast before leaving Paris for a different city he hadn't talked about yet – they'd settle things in the morning.

The physician left the room quickly and excited – Éponine knew it was because he would be seeing his mistress so she had to smile at that, sadly though. She used to smile for everything when she was about to see Marius, when she was around him was much the same.

Now, all she wanted to do was crying.

"Do you love Marius?" Éponine chocked at the question, turning abruptly back to face Enjolras who was near his bed with the candleholder in his cabinet lit, hardening the lightened edges of his handsome face.

Éponine wasn't sure if it was a trap for another argument – she was tired and she wanted just to leave to her room as soon as possible. She caught herself a little more comfortable near Enjolras than she had expected and it made her slap herself.

"Do you love-"

"I heard you the first time." She replied bluntly, folding her rough edgy arms over her chest and feeling her cheeks burn. She was glad the light had diminished to hide it from Enjolras unforgivable eyes "I guess I did…" she muttered.

"You _guess_?" Enjolras inquired, his polished postured as perfect as ever. No one would imagine he had almost collapsed few minutes ago.

Éponine shrugged, deciding to tell the truth about what she really felt for Marius "I guess I did love him, at some point," she could see, even though very lightly, his eyebrows frowning at the vague answer as she took her time to continue her confession "I loved the idea of being loved by him. He was sweet and treated me like a true _mademoiselle_…" she linked her fingers together, looking down and smiling at the good memories of her head "He was humble and naïve, a true gentleman, a charming prince." She felt her chest crestfallen and her eyes darted away for Enjolras marble face "He gave me hope on something I thought I'd never expect in my entire life." And her sad, earnest chocolate orbs were back at the deep, absorbing blue, engulfing her in his wondering mind.

Why did he ask her that?

She embraced herself, suddenly cold "Why do you want to know?"

"You jumped in front of him for him to survive." His voice was all about matter of facts, although he was still puzzled and Éponine knew he wasn't over "You gave up your life for him to live." He pointed out and she didn't know where he was going with it anymore "You either did it for love either to get yourself killed."

"And what is your business in my life, again?" she questioned narrowing her brow eyes at his agog expression.

"I do not know, yet. If you joined the revolutionaries to be there for Marius, then-"

"What if I did?!" And she was standing right in front of him, gaping her nostrils, her hurting eyes spiting fire "What if I joined _Les Amis de L'Abaissé_ to be with Marius after all?! I still don't see where you're in all of this."

"Do you not remember? I'm the _bastard_ who sent them all to their grave." Éponine could see the anger boiling in his face, even in the dark, and she felt herself reddening over it. Even when he was furious his posture didn't faltered. What a peculiar man "I'm an _Ami_ and you lied when you joined the cause if you was only there for Pontmercy."

"Don't you think you're taking offense rather _too_ late?" she scoffed, folding her arms and lifting her chin. She could see his jaw clenching.

"If I were to be thinking chronologically, I shouldn't even bother because I _forgot_ about them." He pointed out again and Éponine furrowed her eyebrows.

"Are we talking about _me_ or about _you_?"

"If you would just answer my questions rather making more, we would certainly have come to some point."

"Are you telling me I'm evasive?"

"No need to point it out, honestly.

"Why do you _care_?!"

"I do not know."

"And _I'm_ the evasive one?! _Alright_!" she scoffed, turning around to leave "Well, while you're inquiring something you have not thought about yet, I'm going to rest because I'm _bored_ and _tired_." She saw him shrugging.

"You're leaving because you do not want to be honest about yourself." Éponine turned her hands into fists, controlling herself not to punch him straight on the face.

"I don't think I'm going to forgive you anymore!" she said childishly, blushing embarrassed at how it sounded out loud, marching towards the door.

"It's rude not to forgive someone who is being _honest_ about the apologies." He replied pulling his sheets so he could lie down on the bed, not really wanting to face her either.

_This sounds so stupid_ he couldn't help himself to think otherwise.

"After all your clever answers and beautiful words, _this_ is the best you can come up with?!" She waited him reply before opening the door and storming out.

"You have told me my clever answers and beautiful words are all lies. This is the _very_ me, _Mademoiselle_."

She slammed the door when he had finally rested his head in the pillow, making his head throb in pain. However, he couldn't find in him reasons to be irritated – it had been amusing to show the feisty brunette he wondered about her mysterious being. Although he had been pushing over the edge after involving _Les Amis de L'ABC_, he couldn't see if he was ever rude during their conversation – or would it be a quarrel?

Impertinent, yes, though never rude. Something she could be both at the same time moments ago.

And Enjolras had to confess it was interesting how she tried to change the subject to reasons he couldn't know. He supposed it was a bit embarrassing for women to shout out their love for others, not as harsh as it was for man; however, Éponine surrounded herself of impregnable walls made of irony and indelicacy, even cynical sometimes – Joly had told him she haven't had a very easy life and in their sick world it was only fair he believed it. Even if Éponine did have her quick-witted replies, she seemed to embrace herself for the others' reaction, ready to be hurt physically.

A mysterious _Mademoiselle_ indeed…

* * *

A dream… And there he was thinking he would have a peaceful night of sleep without further ado.

The next thing he knew he was in this small and dark room, only one candle to illuminate the entire ambient, not succeeding at all. The candleholder over the round, dark wooden table in the center of the room and Enjolras was standing next to it, his hands folded at his back and his blue eyes glaring at the flickering light, he was searching for something.

For quite some time he stood there, seeing the fire dancing with the sound of thunderstorms outside the shutter in the window, the cracks enlightened sometimes as _lightings_ punished the Earth with their fury.

_What am I doing? _He muttered to himself, running a nervous hand through his curly locks, the blonde a bit darker due the water dripping from it. He could hear rain falling outside and he felt his clothes were soaked as well, his red waistcoat heavy around him and his brown boots were almost sinking him to the creaking floor.

He took off his waistcoat and laid it next to the candleholder, pulling his the sleeves of his white shirt over to his elbows, letting his skin breath. He wasn't sure what else to do over that.

"_What am I doing?_" he asked himself one more time, a bit of twinge in him as he leaned his both hands over the table, continuing to glare at the fire on the candle.

"_Leading them._" His head turned abruptly to side and there was the shadow of a petite and wet brunette, in deep green and burgundy standing by the window. When the silver light came form the cracks he could see her walking to him until she was by the golden reach of the candle, soggy and shivering, though she didn't seem to notice. She had a soft expression in her square face and high cheeks, a small grin set in her plump lips and digging the dimples in the corner. Her hair blended in the darkness and he could hear the drops hitting the creaking floor as a symphony "_Have you seen a ghost?_"

"_I might have._" He answered her, pushing away from the table and gazing concerned at her "_You're cold._"

"_I'm not._" She shrugged stopping in front of him, although she was still in the darkness.

"_I was not asking._" She pushed her grin to one side, resting her hands in her tight waist.

"_Are you worried about me?_" one thin brow arched. He could feel his Adam's apple bubble in his neck at her suggestive glance.

"_Of course I'm worried about you._" Answered fixing his blue irises in her brown orbs "_You went back that place?_" She knew he was talking about the Gorbeu, the house were she shared a small room with her entire family and the bunch of her father's crooks.

"_I slept in the street._" She replied leaning her hips in the table, lightheartedly.

"_You do not need to sleep in the street, Éponine._" He reprehended her and she had a tauntingly smirk on her face.

"_Are you taking me to your _château_, Monsieur Enjolras?_" a very amused smirk showing her yellow teeth and Enjolras decided to join her provocations.

"_I will certificate myself to bring you there, yes._" She let out a mocking laugh "What is so funny?"

"_You're so naïve, Enjolras._" She told him, her expression soft, but sad "_Can't you see you alone can't change the world?_"

"_I'm not alone, Éponine. We have our friends and the people._" A fire burning inside of him when he spoke of this people. Éponine shook her head, smiling dreary at him.

He could feel her cool touch in his hand, she shivered, her eyes fluttering at him and the hesitancy in her teeth biting her lower lip – still, she had to say something about it all and Enjolras knew he wouldn't enjoy listening to it. She had those flourishes when she was about to tell something unpleasant to him, through them she told him she didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"_We have _Les Amis_. The people won't come._" He frowned at her and thought of pulling his hand away, but she had gripped it with both her hands.

"_They will, Éponine. They told us they will rise when the time comes!_" she shook her head and he looked away, breathing unsteady.

"_They aren't in love with Patria like you and your friends. They don't think about tomorrow as if it's so far way as you say it is._" He let go of her hand and turned around, gasping in disbelief and pulling his hands in his hips "_Tomorrow is a terrible day and they'll starve if their husbands and fathers and sons die climbing barricades._"

"_If_ _they don't climb and fight, they'll starve either way!_" He replied angrily, turning back to face her and eyeing her darting, concerned orbs "_They'll just starve later, that's all._"

"_Well, later gives them a hope your speech of making the King listen or arising the barricades will never give. Try to understand…_"

"_Then we'll prove them wrong!_" He clenched his jaw and fisted his hands, stiffing his arms in his sides. He saw the thin arms closing in front of her as she embraced herself, looking down and shivering "_You're very cold._" Suddenly he had forgotten his rage and moved back to stand closer to her.

She shook her head, trembling slightly and darting her eyes from his face "_I'm alright. I've been through worst._" She rubbed her hands strongly up and down her arms, trying to warm them.

He swallowed thickly, feeling his face reddening as he closed the distance between them, putting his hands over her arms and squeezing them just like she was doing. Her hazel, stormy eyes gazed up at him, wide and stunned at his reaction. He held her like this for awhile, his throat in a knot impending him of speaking what he was about to say – he could see a red staying her prominent cheek bones and the darkness had fled from her as the golden light warmed them, the red of the fire their witness.

"I_ will prove them wrong._" He told her, his deep gaze never leaving her awestruck irises "_I will give France to _you_, Éponine._" And he could feel his entire self burning up as a genuine smile graced her brown, plump lips, dimples in the corners and the bright of hope striking her hazel eyes.

"_I'm looking forward to it._"

* * *

**Come on, I deserve some of your love! An entire chapter of sexual tension between Enjolras and Éponine... And some memories! **

**Will you leave me some reviews? **

**Love you all! See ya! 3**


	4. Patria

**_Notes:_ I took a little longer to write this chapter - I'm back with my classes and today it was very boring, also I had to do have my housekeeping moment in which I made lunch and cleaned everything (and my room! :D). So I wasn't exactly free and, therefore, I should be free from all accusations of being lazy and unproductive. **

**So, I changed this chapter name many times and I wrote it like four times before deciding the better way to updating, so I'll only hope you'll enjoy it since I really don't have much time to change it now (must I say, nor do I have the will of changing it).**

**I'll let you read then, we can talk later! :D Have fun! :3**

**PS.: I apologize for any grammar errors - I'm struggling to keep them as few as possible.**

* * *

**Patria**

* * *

As promised, Joly arrived early that morning, accompanied by a beautiful and tall _mademoiselle_, of skin kissed by sun and long, curly ebony locks, of big eyes and full eyelashes and lips as red as rose. Éponine had heard a lot about her, but the _gamine_ never thought the _opera_ _singer_ to be so stunning – Joly stopped bringing her to the _Café Musain_ short after the feisty brunette had officially joined _Les Amis de L'ABC_, claiming to be much dangerous for her as the day of the revolution approached.

And she was extremely beautiful indeed. Éponine could remember _Courfreyac_ telling Joly the _mademoiselle_ was far too much for the gentle and clumsy medical student. However, Joly just waved him off with a sweet, almost fool, smile on his lips, his eyes darting at the horizon for awhile and Éponine knew he was thinking of her.

Well, he and Musichetta were leaning their heads on each others shoulder as the chariot coursed towards the small village five hours from Paris, somewhere in the North of France. She could see the soft expression on the clean face of the _mademoiselle_ and the relaxed countenance of Joly. Then, Éponine could say that Musichetta loved the medical student and the _monsieur_ loved the opera singer as well, so it doesn't really mattered how they looked in the outside.

"_When there is love, it is all that matters._" She remembered once hearing her mother when she had been drunk enough and upset enough to claim out loud the reasons she did what she did for her father.

At least, at that night, although the old and tiny, really feisty and snarky, woman being utterly drunk, unable to move from her spot in the ground, had a pleasant conversation over their deceptions in life with her eldest daughter – the night after _Azelma_ had been dragged by the police to the women prison on the outskirts of the city.

Éponine felt a small smile tugging in one side of her face, her hazel eyes soft over the scene in front of her – the last time she had seen so much love was when she lead Marius to _Cosette_ and they declared each other in beautiful vows she envied not being hers and his.

Although, now, all Éponine could think about was poor Cosette dealing with Marius being gone, not even really knowing what had happened to him. It pained the _gamine_ to think about the two of them; however, Cosette had been good to her when they were children together – if only she hadn't been the stupid brat she was, maybe she could've tried a civilized conversation with the beautiful _mademoiselle_ she came to be and _even_, who knows, become friends with her.

There was Marius in the middle, of course – him and his freckled, oblivious face, of green dreamy eyes and sweet smile making his tanned skin shiny, contrasting the brown in his hair. Éponine had promised herself to count every single freckle once when he had accidently fell asleep over one table at the _Café_, a bit drunk after spending some time with Grantaire, and mumbled some silly things that made her laugh.

She never finished counting, though…

"_Do you love Marius?_" Éponine felt her cheeks flush at the question ringing in her ears _again_.

She couldn't even try to forget the troublesome _monsieur_ sitting next to her in the chariot – she would've much appreciated to share the velvet cushion with the beautiful singer or even the physician, but she would just be in their way and Éponine couldn't do that to someone she had just officially met. So she would have to bear with the marble young man leaning in the padded red velvet of the chariot walls, his blond curls shining brighter as the sunlight hit them through the small windows.

She could see the dark circles around his wandering eyes, the deep blue meeting the moving green of the nature outside; she could see the blonde eyelashes heaving his red eyelids, sore from being rubbed since they had come into silence short after leaving the outskirts of Paris. She could tell he had a wretched night of sleep from his exhausted, calm face and his unusual extended yawns, which he covered with his right hand in a fist, forcing his broad chest to puff slowly, filling the red waistcoat he was so fond of – one of the many he owned, Éponine figured since the barricade waistcoat had become a cloth full of holes, in which there was many layers of stained dark blood, dust and powder – and closing his eyes, making it harder for him to open every time.

Was it all because of their conversation the night before? She wasn't very certain to say, though she could blame herself a little after saying all those things and telling him she wouldn't forgive him after all – in a shameful, childish form of ever not forgiving someone…

She flushed at the thought, unused to the feeling of being uncomfortable at making others uneasy – or proving Enjolras the only point him and his friends had of her: she was just a girl, barely woman enough to hold an argument against the leader _of Les Amis de L'ABC_.

If it did had to do with her, however, Éponine felt her heart racing at the recollection of thoughts, running her eyes up and down the marble man wearing his casual, though different to her, clothes – the brown trousers and black leather boots, the white, long sleeved shirt underneath the waistcoat and a cravat of many tonalities of brown. It seemed a bit too warm for the season, but she figured the monsieur would only have that clothes in one piece compared to the tore and slightly cool vests he wore during the barricade – and, yes, there were clothes on him when she dragged him from the battlefield towards the hospital.

"_I won't forget you…_" she cursed herself for thinking about it again, blushing and feeling sad.

"It's rude to stare, _Mademoiselle_." She heard his deep voice; he hasn't turn to meet her blush.

She quickly changed her eyes from him, glancing at the cuddling couple in front of them and making her flush more over her latest thoughts. She attached at the wall by her side and decided fiercely to glare at the nature, almost sending it on fire as she reprehended herself over her ridiculous actions when she was by Enjolras.

After all, _he had forgotten her_! She should just do the same and stop being incomprehensible even to herself!

"Did I startle you?" his tired, hoarsely voice sounded again, this time turned towards her and Éponine couldn't look into his indigo orbs. She didn't reply, feeling goose bumps "I apologize for being rude to your rudeness."

"Not much of an apology, then." She mumbled, snorting and glancing over her shoulder at him.

As she had expected and as always, his eyes trying to read her like an open book – but, _wait_… His indigo eyes were grasping at her, his blonde eyebrows knitted together examining her frame. He was almost turned full towards her, shifting in his seat without breaking his polished and perfect stance.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes back to the nature beyond the glass window "And I'm rude staring." She muttered not so low, this way she was sure he would answer.

At least the trip wouldn't be so boring if they would bicker each other the entire journey.

"You would not accept it anyways." She felt her eyes narrowing and she turned around at his tease. She saw one of his tired brows arching waiting for her reply.

"At least I did stop staring when you pointed it out loud." She hissed, folding her arms over the dress Musichetta had lent her, way bigger than she was, even if the garments were beautiful yellow flowers and laces, it still looked like she was wearing a sack of potatoes.

"I assume you can be self-conscious some times." He shrugged as turned back to his window.

"Why won't you just go back to sleep and let me be?" she creased the flesh between her dark, thin brows, gripping her arms as tightly as her wounded hands would let her.

He was aware to her replies now, glancing at her over his shoulder and distancing from the back of the seat, his eyes bemused at her statement "I have _not_ fallen asleep." She grinned indulgently at his hiss, hitting his taunting spot.

"If it pleases you, _Monsieur_." She waved him off, glaring back at her window "I know what I saw." And he shifted in his seat again, almost making her giggle.

"I haven't fallen asleep. It would be impolite." Enjolras insisted, not very sure of his own plea.

Éponine shrugged and motioned her head towards Joly and Musichetta almost snoring across from them "It didn't stop them." And then her stormy hazel orbs had him fully in her sight, again, uneasy and tired, yet as handsome as a marble statue.

And sitting next to her in a not much spacious chariot. Her throat itched and her heart flopped inside her chest.

"Not even _we_ stopped them." Enjolras said scathingly, shrugging slightly and resting again at the back of the chariot, closing his heavy eyes and breathing deeply. Éponine was mesmerized by his graceful gestures as he pinched the bridge of his nose and murmured something that she was very sure she was supposed to hear.

"_Pardon_?" and he dropped his hand, looking at her with his head touching the velvet in the wall of the chariot, careful not to hit it too roughly and pain the wounded place.

"I'm the one being far too rude. I haven't slept well last night and I'm just treating you badly." He did not look at her, definitely frustrated at himself.

Éponine shrugged at his attempt on an apology and smiled small to self. He seemed the Enjolras from before the barricade, suddenly, and it made her heart get a little warm and her temper a little less turmoil.

"Not _that_ rude." The brunette let out halfheartedly and the indigo orbs wandered to her, stunned over her forgiveness and the soft expression drawn on her scrawny, dimpled face.

He felt his throat in a node, gulping whatever he was about to say and taking it as unnecessary, his eyes digging in the stormy ones next to him, recalling the dream from last night and the skittish expression she wore during the memory – although hardened from life, the young lady could still put a smile at her chapped lips to relief the tension around him, even after a quarrel.

His face turned around abruptly, making Éponine jump in her seat and wonder what the hell just happened to the so composed marble man. Did she just spot his face turning red or was the reflection from the sunlight hitting the red in the walls of the chariot?

Enjolras tried to focus his gaze at the moving scenery outside the window, but his mind drifted away back to the dream in which she held his hands in hers and smiled genuinely at him, trusting her entire world in his beautiful and clever words.

And even if she had warned him, he turned his back on her and closed his eyes to the reality, sending his friends to their grave without thinking twice. Now he started to understand why she couldn't forgive him – he wouldn't be able to forgive himself after remembering everything from his lost past.

"You may sleep, _Monsieur_." He heard her soft voice, but he couldn't face her due his burning face "I won't take it personally." It had a hint of amusement, though certain of her earnestly "Nor will I talk about it when you try to embarrass me."

"I'd appreciate that, _Mademoiselle_." He replied honestly, feeling the weariness consuming him as the mild lull of the chariot drove him into his own world of lost and forgotten dreams.

* * *

"This place couldn't be more lovely, _Morrice_!" Musichetta exclaimed grabbing Joly's arms and squeezing him tightly, the biggest smile on her red lips as her big eyes shining at the _maison_ of two stores, salmon colored brick walls, of lengthy and transparent windows garrisoned in alb granite, a flowered wonderful garden and rock hedges. The rooftop of white bricks and from the front she could spot four smokestacks.

Éponine couldn't decide whether she was stunned by the outstanding architecture, humored to know Monsieur Joly's first name or the twisted notion the _bourgeois_ have of the expression _lying low_.

"This is my family winter house." He confessed, a sweet and nostalgic smile taking over his face as he motioned for his group, his cheeks flushed over the mention of his name.

Éponine whistled standing in the front door along the two gentlemen and the opera singer, looking up at the building, awestruck by the giant structure in front of her – it might not be that big inside, yet it was the fanciest thing she had ever stepped inside. It remembered a little of General Lamarque's enormous house, but she never got a chance of entering it. It was indeed beautiful, but it claimed much attention to others eyes – not to mention it was outside the small village, which meant they wouldn't have much chance of blending in with the common people and they would continue to drag attention.

She would have to speak seriously with Morrice Joly after _Mademoiselle_ Musichetta had left to Paris – she wouldn't be able to stay since she had to work at Thursday and prepare herself for the play.

Well, she would speak as serious as she could be while calling Joly _Monsieur Morrice_.

Éponine glanced at the blonde _bourgeois_ next to her and she noticed that Enjolras wasn't much stunned by the sight. His countenance was nonchalant and his indigo eyes were in somewhere between bored and exhausted – she guessed his naps during the five hours journey in the shaking chariot had not been enough to satiate his lack of sleep from the last night and she could see his stiff shoulders heavier than usual.

Well, that house for Enjolras must not been that awestruck because he's a bourgeois and he got to live in fancy homes much wealthier than this, Éponin figured rolling her eyes indignantly at his skeptical stance. A very spoiled brat – the houses didn't shock him but the fact she loved Marius let him wondering.

Indeed, a very spoiled _bourgeois_!

"Éponine!" the melodically voice of the singer claimed the brunette's attention, turning her head sharply towards the tall lady next to her holding her small, bony and calloused hands in her soft, smooth fingers of long and painted nails. Musichetta was almost Enjolras' height and it was a bit intimidating for the _gamine_, not to mention her woman's body compared to the scrawny Jondrette girl – at that, Éponine felt her cheeks burn "Let's go, _ma chérie_! We have much to see here." The feisty, brunette didn't have it in her to flinch under the joyful gaze of the big eyes and, hence, gave up her defenses.

"Alright, _Mademoiselle_." She mumbled grabbing handfuls of the fabric in the skirt for her not to step on it and fall on herself. It was much humiliating to wear a sack of potatoes, not to mention making a bigger fool out of herself than she was already being.

"Musichetta, _mon amour_." Joly called after them when they were heading to the entrance hall, glancing over their small shoulders at the gentlemen still in the doorway. Musichetta had this curious expression in her excited face and Éponine was almost desperate for the young physician to say something "I think Éponine is tired of the travel. Due her wounds, it would be better for her to rest." He had a concerned countenance and he was striding towards them, Enjolras walking slowly behind in his unbreakable stance, examining his surroundings.

"Oh…" the singer turned her attention to Éponine, her face suddenly self-conscious and worried over the feisty brunette. She almost felt bad for how pitiful the big eyes looked at her "I apologize, Éponine. I-I…" she was struggling with her words, blushing and looking down, letting Éponine's hand go.

Éponine barely knew the Opera singer and if they were in other circumstances, the ones she used to live before the barricade, when she would find people of Musichetta's kind to be forcing themselves on a friendship to impress the others and prove to have generous soul, all that kind of stuff _bourgeois_ did to diminish their guilt on having more privileges than others, the gamine would decline the warm treatment Musichetta was giving her and would be real, not to mention rude, towards her, warning her she could be poor, indeed, but she didn't need to be anyone's charity case or a prove of their self-consciousness over their social status.

Under those circumstances, she would probably be working to her father and for _Patron-Minette_, and she would just grab Musichetta's leather coin purse and ran away with her francs.

Nevertheless, Éponine didn't find in her the will of being mean for such a naïve and harmless _mademoiselle_ who happened to lend her clothes to a dirt girl from the streets and help her dress them, not bothering to take her wounded hands in hers, ever so cautious, smile widely at her scrawny and injured figure just because she had agreed on explore their new surroundings.

Even if it was completely obvious their contrasting backgrounds for others, Éponine could see with her hazel eyes that it didn't matter for this beautiful woman by her side, worried about her well-being and her broken body.

Musichetta was much more than appearances and Éponine felt ashamed of thinking otherwise.

Musichetta was retreating to the stone doorframe, embracing herself and trying to hid her embarrassed face when Éponine shook her head and grabbed her smooth hands in hers, abruptly forcing the big and wide eyes at her face "_Mademoiselle_-"

"Musichetta." She insisted meekly and Éponine could only smile at that.

"_Musichetta_," Éponine corrected herself and made the red, soft lips curve upwards "I'm don't feel tired." And she glanced back at the tall student paying attention to their conversation while his butler made his way past the door towards him and Enjolras "And I would love to walk around with you." And there it was again, the brightest smile showing all her teeth and half-closing her eyes.

Well, Éponine could leave with those smiles.

"Are you sure?" Musichetta tightened slightly her soft grip around Éponine's hand as the little one nodded lightly, a small grin on her lips "Alright then! Come along!"

"Musichetta!" they could hear his protests.

She turned around; walking backwards with such grace and easy Éponine could swear she was sliding, one hand holding the bandaged hand of Éponine as the other moved to her lips and waved a kiss from her full lips to the clumsy and now flushing Joly in the large entrance of the house. Then Musichetta was giggling and forcing Éponine to chuckle at that. They went to the right, entering a long hallway and out of the gentlemen sight.

Joly sighed, frustrated, rubbing his neck and keeping a hand in his pocket, with his green eyes closed and the brown hair in a mess - not to mention the burning cheeks of his long face. Enjolras stood by him, his hands behind his back and his deep gaze taking in the big house.

"_Monsieur_ Joly, welcome back." The butler bowed slightly and smiled warmly, his clear eyes crinkled in the corners behind the glasses due his overage. He wore a light beige suit and a blue cravat, increasing the lightening air around him to his grey hair and white skin.

"No need this, Beni!" Joly told the butler and saw the old man opening his arms, much smaller than the student, who squeezed him in a breathless hug "Old man, I missed you."

Beni composed himself after letting go the lad, nodding and sighing relieved "Needless to say you were very much missed, _Monsieur_." And, then, his gaze was a reprehensive one "We were deadly worried about you."

Enjolras knew what the glare towards his friend meant. Joly's family must have been warned about the barricade events by him and noticing, as a matter of fact, a wealthy bourgeois household couldn't let their child homeless after surviving a battle – all in all, a battle was still a battle and turning out alive of it meant pride and honor, as long as the part in which they ran away was kept in secret.

"I know. I apologize for troubling you." Joly bowed slightly, not ashamed at all and, hence, spotting Enjolras next to him. He pushed the man in the red waistcoat closer in a half hug and smiled friendly to him and to the butler, patting the blonde's chest in a playful way and careful not to hurt him "Beni, I'd like you to meet my close friend, _Grégoire_ Enjolras." And the blonde winced at the name.

The butler turned to the blonde student, eyeing him briefly and bowing shortly. Enjolras cut him from such treatment extending his right hand for the old _monsieur_ to greet him in an equal sign that would mostly turn his staying in the house a bit less whelming – maybe explain Beni Enjolras wasn't better than anyone else inside that _maison_.

"_Monsieur_." Beni took the hand, plugging this one-sided grin in his wasted face and the curly blonde let a ghost of a smile grace his lips.

"_Monsieur_ Beni, I sincerely appreciate your hospitality." His bowed a little, moving the curls to his face. He had to run his other hand in it to pull them away.

"I shall feel the same way." The light eyes of the butler wandered Enjolras' body again, obviously understanding that the blonde had been in the same event his young master was and almost died. He could see a prominent bandage behind his right ear and frowned slightly "This must be troubling you." He pointed being friendly, hiding his hand behind his back.

Enjolras shrugged slightly, lightheartedly, going back to his perfect stance "It's much better now, I can assure you."

"Would you like to rest from the journey for now, _Messieurs_?" Beni wondered, turning around to guide them through the house.

They were tired, Enjolras was exhausted and he could feel his wound throbbing behind his ear, though the injury in his left shoulder wasn't bothering him anymore. Joly had a completely crooked posture while following his old butler and was struggling to keep up, therefore he practically dragged himself in the corridor the mademoiselles had just went by.

However, Joly told Enjolras that Musichetta would be back to Paris in two days and he wanted to make the most out of their time. Enjolras kept to himself the thought that the opera singer had just traded him for the feisty brunette.

"I'd like to find Musichetta first and then I'll put my slumber in order." Joly calmed down the butler who nodded obediently, thinking of where the couple of ladies would have gone to and the tall student decided to walk next to the blonde friend, pacing slowly "What do you think of this place?" he had a clumsy smile in his tired face.

Enjolras nodded, arching both brows "It's definitely a beautiful winter house, my friend." And Joly disrupted the smile, knowing Enjolras had something else to say "However, it's not the exactly idea of not dragging attention." The indigo eyes weren't harsh on the goodhearted young man beside him. They were just being true.

Joly rubbed his neck, shrugging slightly "I understand. I wanted to go to somewhere smaller, but my parents have already gone to the summer house on the coast and after they found out I wasn't dead, they obliged me to come here where Beni can take a look in me." He said rolling his eyes and Beni glared at the both young men over one shoulder.

"And I shall look after you as if you were a toddler." Joly flushed at that and Enjolras smile sideways quickly enough not to let the friend know.

"I'm not, though, and I have company, so you can't just break in my room every hour." Joly replied childishly, narrowing his green eyes and folding his arms.

"You're only safe for this weekend, Morrice." And there was a devilish smirk on the old man's wrinkly face.

Joly grunted, hiding his face behind his hands and mumbling something about the old man picking on him whenever he was around. Enjolras couldn't help feeling amused over the nearly family reunion in front of him. It was much overwhelming it gave him some nostalgic feelings to his forgotten past, before the barricade, before going to Paris and studying to be a lawyer – Joly had told him that much when they were alone in his room waiting for Musichetta helping Éponine to dress her.

Something about a man very dear to him, explaining him things and promising to keep an eye on him whenever he was about to get himself in troublesome situations – someone he loved with all his mighty, but, suddenly, was gone before Enjolras could even begin to picture the important person to his life.

And he was back at his blankness, clueless of most of his surroundings and uneasy at the feeling of being an outsider to his own life, to his own mind and heart, feeling betrayed by all he once believed and turned against him when he had lost it all – all of his memories were much like Éponine, they didn't forgive him and they weren't willingly to do for now.

The lack of awareness was slowly killing him.

"_Stop saying you're going to die for Patria!" a raspy voice yelled at him, annoyed over his new speech._

Those memories coming on inappropriate moments were definitively disturbing him. But he wouldn't complain if some of his question could be answered by his own recalls rather than Éponine or Joly.

_He was in a room crowded, many voices around him ceased to pay attention at the female in the corner of the room, the only face he could distinguish in the blurry faces around in the yellow candle light, her hair covered by a beige, warn out cap darkening her somber face – meantime, he could say it was the first time he had ever seen her._

_He felt his eyes narrowing and his nostrils gaping. He hated being interrupted in the middle of his brilliant speech, because it was clearly something outstanding for all those people to be singing and cheering his ideals. _

_"I _will_ die for Patria." He insisted, letting his paper go from his hand as it followed to the table underneath him, all the eyes over him and the unpleasant brunette glaring daggers at him. He put his hands in his belt, his red waistcoat resting in the back of a chair behind him "And I shall do it proudly."_

_"People don't care about pride!" she replied angrily, fisting her calloused hands "People have lost their virtues long ago and won't fight for something that will give them pride!" the other eyes were back on Enjolras, waiting for his reply._

_"And what for will they fight if they have lost their virtues?" _

_"If they're ever going to fight in this revolution of yours," she said offhandedly, pushing herself off the wall and gesturing wildly with her hands "They will fight for food in their bellies and for rooftops over their heads, money to soothe them, if you truly want to know what the people is capable of." Although the acridity in the end, she was being the true. _

_"Giving them knowledge through education and medical attendance will help all of them to have what they are aiming." She snorted, rolling her eyes and almost crackling in disbelief "It's not some deed to laugh, mademoiselle."_

_"No. It's completely the opposite of laughing." She replied not missing a beat, her stormy eyes targeting him flawlessly over the crowd of young and taller men than her scrawny frame ever would be "This is something to cry on because rabid young bourgeois are going to sacrifice themselves for those who have no intent on claiming their rights!" and now she was making her way towards Enjolras, her face full of anger opened her path through the multitude, the schoolboys scared of her. Though Enjolras wasn't scared of her grimace "You're rebellious because you want a free France, kingless and righteous. And, dare I say, you're using the poor to get what you want!" _

_"We're doing it for _all_ citizens of France." Enjolras replied dryly, spitting poison through his words._

_"Not _all_ citizens of France wear torn clothes or layers of filthy over their skin!" She opened her thin arms as an example, taking off her cap and keeping it in her coat pocket, while gesturing for every man in the room. Every eye in her and she was so furious she didn't care. There was a spark in her Enjolras had never seen before, not even in himself "_Not all citizens of France_" she scoffed, mimicking his deep voice "starve to death, sleeping in cobblestones covered in dirt and shit of the citizens of France." She glanced back at Enjolras, her eyes watering but never breaking a tear "Not _all_ citizens of France are completely clueless of their situation or what they represent for society, Messieurs." _

_"What is your point, mademoiselle?" Enjolras wondered, folding his arms and without breaking his polished stance over the table. He knew what she was talking about, but he'd rather hear it from her than supposing._

_She snorted and a quick bitter smirk lay in her cracked lips, her arms falling limp to her sides as she inclined her head to meet the indigo eyes "My point, Monsieur, is exactly what I'm saying. Not all citizens of France are poor and desperate; like everyone in this room but me." She turned her head around, sending accusingly glares at the bourgeois in the meeting "And people like me are probably the majority, but there are many of your kind also." Her loathe focused in his face again "My point is why only you of the bourgeois would be interested in dying for your Patria when you barely know it? You pity the poor, everyone knows." She said bluntly looking around again, daring anyone to say otherwise "Right now, I can see you almost weeping over my horrid appearance, my smell and what I represent." The brunette shrugged, making a disgusted face "I can say I weep for you, also, for being clueless over whatever you're praying. You can't be serious while talking about the poor as if you knew them, because you don't!" she exclaimed pointing to Enjolras "You know what you see and what you make of it! And it's much worse than what it seems!_

_"No one will ever join your cause if they see clean, young men, over a platform in front of a parliamentarian's house, wearing nice clothes and a bit tight around their belts because they've just had their meal and are full – they might've even thrown away the food because they couldn't eat much more!" her voice was appalled just from thinking of it. She had all eyes over her, but she wasn't bothered by them. She had her argument, and Enjolras would have to give in sometime – it was, for the lack of better exclamatory words, a hell of an argument "The poor have no virtues, but they're not fools as you may say they are! They'll see rebellious schoolboys scandalizing the King, they'll join for the rush of the moment and they'll run away short after afraid of the police to lock away from their families!_

_"They will not die for Patria, nor will they die for _you_, and you're all fools if you think otherwise." She closed her speech, leaving all the bourgeois astounded. She put her cap back on her head roughly while making her way towards the stairs, the young lads opening the path and making sure she wouldn't stare at them._

_Near the balustrade there was a young man, of freckles and goofy face, widened eyes at the speech of his friend as she made her way towards him "Pardon, Monsieur Marius, but I can't stand another minute in here. See you around." She huffed and raised her head high, gritting her chin and going down the wooden stairs without turning around to face the dumbfounded bourgeois._

And it was the first time they had meet, Enjolras could feel himself as if he had been slapped right across his face as he was back at Joly's winter house, heading towards the east parlor, a round spacious room with fresco paintings in the walls and a crystal chandelier. He could feel his head throbbing and the light coming from the huge windows and the open door wasn't making it better – not to mention the giggles from the mademoiselles was extremely nagging.

Enjolras was agog therefore he couldn't understand he had almost none memory of his past, his student friends who died at the barricade he initiated, yet he could recall some few moments with the skinny brunette outside in the balcony, in which they were arguing or being extremely close towards each other – the leader of Les Amis de L'ABC had to think quickly about those moments before feeling his cheeks burn and giving away his thoughts.

He wasn't complaining, after all he _was_ recalling some of his life. The only incognita was why Éponine was another main character in his mind? What happened for her to be so stuck in his lost, confused mind? Why, all of a sudden, did he think of her stormy, chocolate orbs?

"Enjolras, you're sleepwalking." The blonde shook his head, blinking a few times and meeting the green, lightheartedly irises of Joly who motioned towards the door to the balcony "You can go ahead to your room, if you want. I'll just tell them where their rooms are and I'm going to rest." Yes. Joly was definitely tired, and he was tugging at his injured leg since they had landed from the chariot. And now, having Enjolras a little less messed up and under inspection, Éponine also, his shoulders didn't seem as heavy as before and he earned his peaceful and pleasant sleep.

"Joly." Enjolras patted his shoulder, his eyes soft and stunning the taller friend "You've done enough, my friend. You should go ahead to your room and I can tell them where they'll be staying."

"You don't know the house." He said as a matter of fact and the blonde arched his brows, agreeing at his opposition.

"I know it like the back of my hand, Morrice." Beni intervened from behind the duo – Enjolras hadn't noticed he had just passed by the old, fine butler – and gave a concerned glance at his young master "And I'll assist Monsieur Enjolras while you go rest."

"But…" Joly pouted, feeling left out as the indigo eyes glared at Beni and thanked him for saying so "I want Musichetta to join me." He sounded rather childish if you would not mind the deep blush staining his cheeks in red.

Beni huffed and Enjolras took the lead, once more, his eyes demanding "I'll tell her to meet you, my friend. No need to be sad."

Joly shrugged after glancing at the both serious men talking to him and, finally, gave up his little peeves. Turning around to go back through the long hallway they just went by, asking some maid in the way he would like to take a bath and retire, soon being led to his chambers by the old lady.

Enjolras turned back to Beni who was staring at him "Is everything alright?"

"You seem lost, _Monsieur_." The butler wondered, arching one eyebrow and the blonde _Ami_ knew he wasn't talking about his new living place.

Enjolras nodded slowly, sighing and rubbing his back "It's somewhat troublesome." Cleared way too exhausted to begin the explanation he was told by Joly about how the bullet skimmed his head during the battle five days ago and made him lost all recordation of his life.

"That's why it's called life." Beni replied shrugging and motioning towards the balcony, Enjolras keeping his pace in a few seconds, a wondering countenance as he paid attention to the butler's words "Even so, it's much better for you to be alive and lost than dead and gone."

Enjolras breathed deeply "I suppose." His gaze falling on the small brunette grabbing the solid granite guardrail, the wind blowing on her half up coiffure made by Musichetta.

The dress was much larger in the tiny gamine, the sleeves were loosen around her skinny arms and they would slid down almost every time from her bony shoulders, revealing the bandages coming over the right side of her collar bone to her neck; the white bodice was as tightened as it could be and Enjolras could still see her body moving free in the supposed clinging array; the yellow flowered garment in the skirt crawled in a good portion on the floor below them and it had dirtied since she had first stepped in the streets of Paris to get to the chariot. Her bandaged hands didn't match the dress, but the color did something to her skin, highlighting her unusual tinge, and Enjolras had to admit it made her look pleasant.

He hadn't noticed she turning around or the thin, arching brow, inquisitive glare in the stormy, hazel eyes as one corner of her lips tugged to the side, making one dimple dig her olive cheek, her has resting tightly around the waist in her suggestive flourish.

"It's rude to stare, _Monsieur_." He controlled himself not to let his favorite color stain his face.

And when he didn't answer her taunt, he saw a hint of constraint lying on face, her arms embracing herself soon after and her face going downwards on averaging seconds.

"_Mademoiselles_, I apologize interrupting your lovely tour. However, I may introduce myself as your chamberlain, Beni." He bowed slightly towards them and Musichetta curtsied him back, taken aback at the old and polished monsieur with her bright smile on her face.

Éponine, though, nodded and looked at his face, self-conscious for reasons unknown to Enjolras. He felt his eyebrows furrowing at the upset glare she sent him and, then, he was concerned.

"And I assume you are…" Beni continued, a soft smile in his face as he wandered his eyes from Musichetta and Éponine.

"Musichetta Dubet." The opera singer answered melodically, and Beni met the mistress of his young master, amused by her charisma.

Éponine was awkward under his gaze and Enjolras was about to answer for her, but she composed herself and lifted her chin high, a smile that didn't reach her eyes spread in her lips "Éponine Thérnadier." And Beni nodded understandingly, familiar with the name, not recoiling at the moment where. The _gamine_ curtsied him, hence, bowing her head smoothly "_Merci_, _Monsieur_, for having us."

"No need for thanking me, Mademoiselle." Beni waved her off, and sent her a tranquilizer gaze "No need for calling me monsieur, also." And there was this smirk on her face, forcing Enjolras mind back to his dream, the Éponine from before the barricade.

"No need calling me Mademoiselle, then." She arched her brow and the butler agreed "Just Éponine."

"Me too!" Musichetta jumped in the conversation, absentmindly and linking her arms with Éponine "Beni, have you seen Morrice?"

"Indeed, he has just gone to his chambers." Enjolras answered politely, eyeing the old man who agreed to let him speak "He asked you to join him after been shown to your chambers." And Musichetta was blushing heavily, though the smile tugged in her joyful face, nodding at him.

"Shall we go, then? You'd like to rest before dinner, I suppose." Beni rubbed his lined hands and made his way back to the parlor, Musichetta letting go of Éponine and talking loud with him, vivacious and hopping.

Éponine walked slowly behind them and Enjolras joined her side soon enough, noticing that she hasn't look him in the eye since she had greeted him in the balcony.

"Are you feeling ill?" he asked, dubious at her unlocking eyes.

"No."

He frowned, narrowing his eyes "Why will you not look at me?" he asked bluntly and Éponine shrugged.

"I don't feel like looking at you." He snorted at her reply.

"What have I done for that deserves being ignored?" Enjolras hissed for Beni and Musichetta not to listen their argument.

"I'm not ignoring you." She answered in a beat, her eyes rolling up as she spotted the butler and the singer walking up the stairs in the main hall, gesturing towards many paintings in the walls "I'm only not looking at you."

"It would be very welcome if you would tell me why." He wondered scoffing, his face serious though.

"It would be very welcome if you would stop staring at me as I'm your wandering nightmare." Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows and saw her eyes almost betraying her, coming to his direction in sideways.

She controlled them and straightened her vision once more.

_Damn it! _

"I do not look at you as if you were my wandering nightmare." He told honestly and she gripped a handful of the skirt, pulling it up to climb the stairs while following Beni and Musichetta, her chin high and her eyes avoiding him "It makes no sense…"

"Of course it doesn't." now she had finally turned to face him, her eyes unforgiving and upset, her eyebrows skeptical and her lips downward "You forgot me." And he was gaping at her, noticing her closed fists at her sides.

After that, Éponine bolt to the top of the stairs, leaving Enjolras to walk alone and lost in his thoughts, not regretting telling that to him – though she was sure her burning, annoyed and embarrassed face would give her feelings away anytime.

She saw his stoic and unpleasant face at her in the balcony, his indigo eyes wandering the large clothes around her and making her feel most inferior, if it was even possible. She knew she was awful in Musichetta's beautiful gown; he didn't have to make it look worse than it was! He didn't _even_ reply her taunt in clear disgusted by her looks!

_Spoiled bourgeois!_ She huffed, hot tempered and closing her eyes to keep her face nonchalant.

Beni glanced at them over his shoulders, spotting a slightly dumbfounded Enjolras struggling to keep the pace with them, hence darting his eyes to the feisty brunette holding her chin high, her face impetuous.

_Children…_

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**Reviews, guys! Gimme reviews! :3**

**Take care and see you later! **


	5. Shadows

**_Notes:_ I'm sooo sorry this chapter took a whole week - if not more! Oh my god! I got stuck up with my college going back to classes and I sprained my ankle dancing - yes, dancing Zumba! But I was here everyday, writing and I think I wrote a thousand versions of this chapters, with many different names! Just hope you'll enjoy this one.**

**Again, I apologize for my lack of timing! I'll take no long to the next! I promise two-three days tops! :D**

**Thanks so much everyone who's being reviewing/ favoriting/ following the fic! I couldn't be happier with such amazing people following my humble story - just hope to stick to your expectations! ^_^**

**Now, without further due, enjoy! :3**

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**Shadows**

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If anything, Éponine was grateful for leaving the place of demise, where its walls pretended to be warm and soothing in pastel shades when there was only Ilium and darkness engulfing her and sending her back to the deepest corners of her mind, where the thought of dying wasn't a fine and pleasant ending, when making through alive was what mattered the most and she would do all in her must, and all she mustn't also, to not face the threatening end; when the promises of making through the twisting ache of starvation in her stomach and the severe cobblestone raze her filthy skin and strained her muscles spread in the silver pavements, the freezing nights out in the dirty Parisian streets only in her ragged clothes and bare feet, the melancholy of living that life would go away one day and she would be gifted with halcyon days, at long last.

And, yet, she would not have halcyon days because they would only arrive for those of good intent and gentle soul; Éponine was neither of the latter. She wouldn't change simply because she had survived some injuries after battling the National Guard, not also because of the decorous clothes she wore now or the enough amount of food to satiate her small stomach.

She wasn't taking for granted what she was given by _Monsieur_ Joly and his sweet heart, he did more for her than anyone ever willed to do and she would never be able to pay him back for all of his kindness. However, as some would say, and Éponine supposed they were right, people do not change – it did not matter how they were treated by others, what remains in the core of them is what makes them be who they were.

Éponine could never be one of gentle, kind, good nature in the end, all the background she carried over her small, bony shoulders and back were the proof. She knew what she did was unforgivable for the eyes of the bourgeois joining her in _Monsieur_ Joly's winter house. She knew what they would say, just like she was once told by a kind cardinal when she slipped inside _Notre Dame's_ doors, running away from the police after another attempt at robbing some innocents' house, splitting from _Patron-Minette_ and her father – he asked her to stay for the night in the huge and warm cathedral, she could sleep in the benches if she pleased or she could wait until she felt it was time to leave. The cardinal gave her a loaf of bread in the middle of the night and a glass of wine to warm her during the cold temperature of spring, finally sitting next to her and asking her about her life.

He listened to everything she told him, with her snarky voice and cynical, though true, words about her days until today – the tricks she learned from her father and applied in oblivious people; the lies she told to get some coins in change; the many money she stole; the things she has done for _Patron-Minette_ to accomplish a mission and closing her eyes, pretending she saw nothing at all, when they would murder some innocent.

The cardinal just shrugged and jointed his hands, looking back at her with serene eyes as he started to tell her a story of a woman from thousands of years ago, who struggled to live a terrible life in the Romanic Empire and who had a work where dignity could not ever be involved. She loathed her life until one man came towards her, with his kind heart and mighty mind, telling her to leave this to the past and walk with him in another path, she would soon take it as the best path her feet had ever walked – and the man told the woman all he knew about the mighty God, high above their heads, warning her he was his son and he had came to the earth to free the living from their sins and understand the reasons they would ever sin. The woman listened careful to his intriguing story, involved with all his miraculous life and the wonderful things he done, though he wasn't the one with the power – he was only the midst the God used to send his grace in the earth. And when he had finished talking about his marvelous mission, he asked the woman to join him in his route, filled of dangerous obstacles, along his twelve disciples and assist him on redeeming his people.

The cardinal told Éponine the woman had joined the man of many disciples and his mother, entering in a whole different life from any she had ever heard of, and feeling blessed and cared and loved for having all of these new people as a dear family to her, for she had never experienced it before. The woman truly believed in the man that came and freed her from her miserable life, teaching her the joyful experience a life where faith lies could be, and leading her to a no returning path, loving her the most in the end just like he did with every one of the people he died for release them from their sins.

"_The woman, child,_" the cardinal said gently, smiling small to a focused Éponine next to him "_was _Marie-Madeleine_ and she was one of the most important people in the life of the son of the Lord._" Éponine arched her brows slightly, a bit shocked and a bit confused after all "_Even being regarded as sinner for every eyes around her, _Jésus-Christ_ forgave her and her sins, and loved her all he could even after he was dead._" It took a moment for her to realize the cardinal was comparing her to the woman from the bible and Éponine couldn't find much to say as an answer to the kind Cardinal.

Éponine Thérnadier was not anything to compare to _Marie-Madeleine_ and she would never change for anyone who would come into her life.

_"People don't change!" the husky voice, ground breaking before a slap over the right side of her face was of somewhat a proof. The older man grabbed her arm and pulled her to the wall, twisting her wrist and forcing tears of pain and hurt roll down her dirty face while she bit her lower lip with all her might not to start screaming – the man wouldn't appreciate her yelling in the alley and alerting the police of them around "You wanna play saint?" his brown eyes similar to hers held her painful grimace while he wore the perverse frown, his unruly thick eyebrows heaving the glare digging holes in her soul. His free hand went to her tangled, thick hair and yanked it down, and her teeth tore the cracked, tender flesh on the lip, her tongue tasting blood while she did all she could to keep herself from screaming – she had felt some of the hair pulled out of her skull as darts dug her skin "Now, _little mademoiselle_," the beautiful address some would make for her just felt sick and twisted coming out of his disgusting mouth, along the sarcasm and the reality "You listen me when I say the people you walk with from now on." He grabbed her jaw in his calloused and rough fingers, clutching the bone and forcing her chin up as to demonstrate all of it was real and she had no way out "Ya'll always be a _Thérnadier_, wherever you go, and ya'll always be this nasty, filthy, pitiful little shit no matter how much you scrub your arms in the water or fancy clothes you might wear someday." And there was a final cruel smile, before another jab in her face to knock her out "I know you won't forget this."_

The mirror in the beautiful comber returned her somber features, her flaw face of neglected skin and scars rising in the sides of her square chin to her hair line by her small ripped ears around the lobe - which were cause by her father when he yanked the beautiful pearls she wore to sell an old lady soon after they arrived Paris and Éponine was barely thirteen. She would never forget the tattering ache she felt through almost a week and the cold glare her father would sent her, demanding her to stop crying -, the prominent and high, meager cheeks beneath her hazel and deep eyes circled in leaden gray, the sore eyes from glaring much at the sun above the sky in hope to have the smallest hint of heat at freezing days; the wavy, massive of locks less tangled than they were once, at the best smell she had ever felt coming from them, did not make the sight of the gamine go away.

Nothing would take that away, not even the beautiful classic French room she stood at, with coral walls trimmed from the bottom to the very top along the beautiful painting in the ceiling, of clouds in the early morning with some toddler angles playing harp and gazing her a compassionate countenance, encompassing the exquisite and frail golden chandelier hanging above the bed of the same delicate and alb color of the comber she used, garnished of pillows trimmed in different, yet, compounding patterns of pale chambray and caramel softening the bright persimmon tinge of the chamber that was so much bigger than anything she had ever owned – and it wasn't her place never the less. The wardrobe across the room, the same material of the other furniture spread in the wide place that could be filled at least five rooms her family rented at the Gorbeu, was twice her height and large also, she could hide herself there if she ever felt the need to, and it was supposed to be full of drawers and replicate smaller doors to tuck accessories and stuff Éponine would never own also. It hanged some smaller clothes a kind handmaid, about her size, still much bigger than her, had lent to Monsieur Joly – anything would be better than her ragged clothes or Musichetta's baggy gowns.

And with the thought, came back the stern stare from the marble revolutionary man, wandering his eyes up and down at her silhouette without bothering to stop even after he found her eyes and glared at them, with thoughts Éponine was very familiar with - _"She's ugly!" "Too skinny!" "Pitiful. You can see her bones…" "What a shame, such exotic beauty dropped to the bottom of the heap of life"_. The last one, though dramatic, was the less offensive. And she used to tell herself to not bother with them, not to mind about what others had to say because they knew nothing about her.

However, seeing Enjolras with the same countenance she had seen in so many people walking on the filthy cobblestone streets of Paris, it disappointed her.

And he once told her he would never bother with such trivial ideals as beauty; therefore he would only look at what the person represented and not what she looked like.

_Enjolra forgot the past, Éponine! You cannot possibly think you would be the person his mind would've opened an exception! _Her consciousness shouted at her, waking her from her delusional state and forcing her towards the voices behind the bedroom door, approaching and knocking.

She could only sigh bleakly at her own track of memories – it felt like she had imagined them, just like she would to do for Marius, sometime before _Les Amis _came to her life.

"_Ma chérie_, _Éponine_, _open the door!_" the gaily voice of the Opera singer made Éponine share a small smile to herself, dragging her figure, and trying not to trip on her own feet towards the entrance of the chambers and feeling grateful for her to come in such a time.

Éponine was already remembering about the dead _Monsieur_ she once had fallen in love – and know cherished him as a long life friend if only he would be alive. And she had to say, after sending the letter to Marius' grandfather the first thing they did last morning before making their way to the hideout gave Éponine some sort of hope towards the idea of Marius being still alive.

She had no idea why, everything pointed otherwise, but her stupid and stubborn heart could only stand fight against her realistic brain when life and death were the issues. If the times were different and Éponine had been with the freckled face Pontmercy before heading to the _Café Musain_ and acquaintance _Les Amis de L'ABC_, she would probably listen to her brain again, making herself comfortable in his presence and being his _'Ponine_, the girl he might've recognized as his love if the world of dream and real could ever be the same.

_The life she might have known_ was the best form to describe her delusional and drooling devotion to the broke baron that would always make a dreamy smile plaster in her lips even when he was being reckless over his words and promises he wouldn't keep towards the gamine – and she realized, in the end, only she was able to keep them.

She swung the heavy door opened and pressed a small smile to her tired face, meeting the mossy green huge eyes the beautiful Musichetta owned, the wide and gay, teeth showing smile on her full lips and her hair tight put on a bun at the crown of her head.

When Éponine's chocolate brown irises wandered to her side, the figure next to her, an older Madame of short stature, round and plump, of analyzed her with her head slightly bowed – though she stopped the courtesy when she had a glimpse at the gamine's face and scrawny feature, a little annoyed at that.

"Éponine Thérnadier," Musichetta said winking at the gamine and turning towards the old woman who looked at her sideways, not very willingly to cease her staring at the smaller young girl "I'd like to introduce you the best seamstress of _Village de Les Clariéres_, _Madame Angelou_."

Éponine nodded at the woman who knew who Éponine really was, not exactly fancy and spoiled bourgeois she had imagined since being dragged from the town to some _maison_. Nor was she a _grisette_, no. Madame Angelou had quick eyes filled of experience over life and clearly disgusted by seeing someone like Éponine, a lower status than hers, having the best Madame Angelou would never have. The gamine could actually feel the stab of envy right through her head as the plump woman slightly gapped her nostrils in order to snort at it.

Musichetta noticed that _Madame_ Angelou did not saluted Éponine properly, though she said naught knowing very well the feisty petit brunette could handle herself – even if the singer did feel the need to point out the lack of respect of the old woman towards Éponine.

"_Monsieur_ Beni demanded her being brought here this morning. We're, indeed, desperate." Musichetta tried to lighten the mood as she entered the chamber, standing by the door as Éponine turned around on the plain green maiden dress lent to her. Through the baggy clothes around her bony shoulders, the singer could also see her bandage sneaking off to show itself for the seamstress.

Well, thinking properly, the woman was going to see it anyone. Éponine would have to undress for the lady to measure her. There was no way trying to hide her now.

"Indeed." The old, raspy voice came as _Madame_ Angelou glanced around the beautiful room, as Musichetta enjoyed pointing out the last night's dinner, much more beautiful than hers. And Éponine felt the twinge of envy caught up in the scathingly word, turning around to face the seamstress who landed her small purse over the coffee table between the settees in the corner of the room, by a fireplace "So much desperate."

Éponine narrowed her eyes at the mention and clenched her fist, avoiding the will to smack the sarcasm of the woman's face. She knew nothing about Éponine.

_"People don't change!" _And that was what kept the gamine from striking the Angelou woman.

"As you can see, _Madame_, _Mademoiselle_ Éponine is lacking of clothes right now." Musichetta started, stepping near to the duo, the tension could be cut by a knife if there was any around for the theatre woman to prove her point "She cannot use this."

"Of course not." The woman smirked bitterly "_Mademoiselle Thérnadier_ must have all the best in my power to look exactly _like_ the _bourgeois_." The words filled of poison and Éponine could only arch and eyebrow as Musichetta swallowed thickly the offense, taking personal "Now, _Mademoiselle Dubet_," the woman turned towards the singer, with an inquisitive glare "Could you excuse us so I can start my job?"

With that, Éponine raised and eyebrow and folded her arm over her chest, wildly glaring at the rude seamstress "No need to leave, Musichetta." The brunette told the other woman almost leaving the room with her head down, awkwardly "You've seen me before, haven't you?" Musichetta turned slowly and nodded small, the seamstress only rolled her eyes and grabbed the metric tape inside her purse, muttering something offensive as response to her demanding "I'm not shy." Éponine batted and the lady smirked scathingly at Éponine, inclining her head at that.

"I can see that." Madame Angelou gestured to the gamine to take off her clothes and stay only on her undergarments "Someone like you can't live being timid."

Musichetta was about to say something as she marched over towards Éponine to help her to take the handmaid's dress, but the feisty brunette simply looked amusingly at the singer, shaking her head and winking at her fashions to everything around her – even if something was ticking her off, Musichetta could look so cute.

There was no need to Musichetta to feel angry for Éponine. The _Jondrette_ – _Thérnadier_ girl had all the wrath of the world on her shoulders, after all, and she could only stare at the snobbish seamstress, who seemed to enjoy herself while causing tension inside four walls.

And Éponine thought she was small…

The woman was glaring widely at the bandages showing beneath the undergarments, the bonds on her shoulder matching the ones around her hands, though a bit more bulky than in the other places – Éponine couldn't open the stitches again and Joly told her it would take at least two weeks for it to be completely painless.

The seamstress frowned at the sight, also noticing the sharp edges in the girl's body along the scars over her skinny, though defined muscled legs, stepping towards her and grimacing a little more to the idea of touching Éponine "What happened to you?!"

Éponine glanced at Musichetta and the ebony haired beauty shrugged, understanding the question running over the smaller brunette's face – the woman probably didn't know they were from Paris and it would be the best not to tell her about it also as punishment for her not congenial behavior during their entire meeting a few moments ago – though she wasn't much friendly now either while taking the measures from the wounded _gamine_.

Éponine shrugged careful not to disturb the woman now working "I like some adventure." Musichetta rolled her eyes amused at her boldness. Éponine was indeed no ordinary girl.

The woman scoffed, unhappy with her answer "Adventure… This is risking your life."

"Perhaps." she found Musichetta holding up a hand to her mouth to cease her low giggle, the one the woman hadn't heard yet. She sure had to say it was amusing seeing the woman frustrated as Éponine averted her assumptions. Too amusing indeed…

"I suppose you don't like your life then." The Madame lifted her gaze to meet the brown irises of Éponine, some offense in her tone that twitched an almost smile on the corner of her mouth. The wounded girl glanced back at Musichetta who was sulking and almost reprehended the woman, holding the singer back "This adventure of yours could've killed the _little mademoiselle_." The fine address with the snarky voice reminded her past, her father talking to her and Éponine narrowed her eyes to the woman, arching one of her eyebrows.

"Not something you'd particularly mind, though, Madame Angelou." the woman glared at Éponine as the girl continued to speak "Actually, you might even appreciate seeing someone like me going down this road."

"Everyone ends down this road, child." The woman replied annotating the measures in a small carnet she drew from her purse "And _death_ doesn't mind the age of the one she picks-" The woman was about to say something else, but Éponine interrupted her unabashedly.

"I _know_ that." Gritted teeth and Madame Angelou was bewildered by the gamine's change of tone so abruptly. Not replying anything to that, understanding perfectly that the Thérnadier girl had been through this experience already. Éponine noticed that the woman had already taken her notes and put her tape back in her bag "If you've finished…"

"Not quite. You still have to choose the fabric and what you want your gowns to look like." Éponine rolled her eyes in disdain, not really wanting to talk to the woman anymore.

The Thérnadier gazed bored at Musichetta who had been bleak knowing the reason Éponine stopped the woman from getting to the memories the gamine bore ever since the barricade – Musichetta had heard a lot about the little urchin who used to deliver some letters for _Les Amis de L'ABC_, and the blonde boy came to her door once to check her for _Morrice_ who seemed worried about some miasmatic virus causing nausea and some other things Musichetta found rather grotesque, though very amusing, as the ten year old _gamin_ tried to say all the difficult terms out loud, making many mistakes and blushing wildly every time the singer laughed at his posture – he started speaking with his back straight, remembering her of Enjolras marble antics; then he lacked of it, way too focused in repeating every word, and his shoulders would slack. Once he had noticed, he would grunt and try to mimic the revolutionary leader. In the end, the boy just stood up in something between Courfreyac's stance and his own audacious attitude. He was proud and he had this devilish grin over his filthy small face, his blue eyes covered in blonde, unruly hair and his ragged clothes all in blue, white and red.

She learned his name later, Gavroche, the same time she found out he was brother of Marius' _shadow_ when the _Amis_ knew nothing at all about the _gamine_ dressing like a boy who used to attend the secret meetings in the backroom of _Café Musain_ just to swoon over Pontmercy's freckled and concerned face.

And then Gavroche died in the wrong side of the barricade. That was all Joly told her when he came to her house the previous day to the burial of Les Amis. This and that _Bossuet_ couldn't make it.

Musichetta woke up from her sad daydreaming and found Éponine grimacing at the old and surly seamstress taking her seat in the settee and grabbing a book with many dress drawings and some patterns of the fabrics, showing it off to the gamine and explaining how they work. Éponine only sighed and saw Musichetta sitting in the chair next to the settees, gingerly staring at the both of them.

"This is going to be a long day." The gamine muttered to Musichetta, gazing bored at the book and the singer only smiled, amused at the Éponine's knack of lightening the mood even to someone she wasn't fond of.

_No ordinary girl indeed._

* * *

"This isn't exactly a shelter, is it?" Joly asked the friend staring at the window on the upper floor parlor, spotting the small city south from the _maison_, gesturing his glass of whiskey around the huge room and resuming his stroke to the curly blonde haired friend not wearing his red waistcoat since it was way too warm inside the parlor even with the windows open letting in the soft breeze winding through the free meadows and woods rounding the area.

Enjolras pursued his lips and leaned against the wall, very careful with his wound, a soft expression written over his face "Not quite." And Joly sighed, looking down and rubbing the back of his long neck with the free hand "Nevertheless, a lovely place."

"Not as lovely as the _Château de Enjolras_." Joly jested, taking a sip of the bitter alcoholic drink. The blonde shrugged because the first thing he did when he landed from the chariot to Joly's winter house was see this grand mansion on the shore, no fences around the residence of delicate porches and three stores sharing the space with round towers and red tiles on the rooftop highlighting the pale gold on the stone bricks on the walls in baroque trimmings. White garrisons on the many windows and dark oak wooden front doors accessed by lead gray stairs.

Indeed, _Morrice's_ house was a _maison_, but the beautiful chateau by the sea, the land mingled between white, thin sand and bright green grass, the salty air smell and the cool breeze from the marine blue sea just owned his entire heart – there was no place better than his family home.

And, yet, he gave up living on the wonderful house, of delightful sight and comfortable furniture, to join the dirty air of the Parisian streets while attending to Sorbonne, studying law as he always wanted to, until he found out his revolutionary self and, then, everything was back to a blur and he cursed his damn mind for playing a prank on him.

When would he remember his friends?

"Well, it's all a matter of perspective." Enjolras replied and Joly smirked at his friend, a very genuine grin which spread to the blonde's handsome, marble face "However, this shelter of yours can be just as charming." And Joly laughed soundly.

"Oh, stop making fun of it." Joly waved him off, leaning on the garrison of the large window, glaring his green eyes at the leader. Then his smile fade away as he went on to talk about business, as usual "The letter I sent to Pontmercy's grandfather… He must've had time to read and answer it, correct? I-I think…" he was stuttering and leaned off the window, covering his mouth with his free hand and shutting forcefully his eyes, and opening suddenly breathing deeply "Maybe he didn't make it after all…"

Enjolras tapped the shoulder of his friend, gently "I wouldn't take assumptions so early, my friend." And Joly's hurt eyes looked curious and Enjolras continued "I supposed Pontmercy's grandfather is a very old man." Joly nodded slowly, thinking over what his living friend was referring to "And being him's probably hasn't had the time to answer it. You wrote the address he should return to?"

"I wrote the address of some friend of mine and he'll be sure it was _Monsieur_ Gillenormand who sent it before passing up here." Enjolras nodded agreeing with the caution the friend took over.

"Let's hope the Monsieur to reply. It would be much considerate." Joly nodded agreeing with his friend and trying to focus on his whiskey "Should you be drinking at this time?" the blonde arched a sardonic grow and the medical student shrugged.

"It helps to keep me from going insane over so many things that could cause disease around us." And Enjolras let a musing laugh come out from him, spreading to the yet sad looking friend "Would you and Éponine stop arguing while I'm not around? It's really difficult to understand your reasons when I'm there to think things through." The blonde rolled his dark blue orbs glaring back at the window "Come on! You quarrel too much for people who were simply so close before…" at that, Enjolras choked and Joly let his glass over the table next to them, attending the coughing man in front of me, not before pulling a clean cloth out of his pocket and covering his hand while touching the blonde's exposed skin "What are you feeling?! Oh, Enjolras! For the love of God, put a hand over your mouth while you cough, would you?!" Joly started to smack the man's back to stop the cough "Here you go! Breathe through your nose and let out through your mouth. It isn't hard, Enjolras! Try at least!"

"I'm not coughing anymore!" the former leader of the revolutionary group yelled, feeling pain at the spot Joly kept smacking him to stop him from choking. The medical student let go of the friend and took cautious three steps backwards, throwing the cloth through the window before doing so. He glared at Enjolras and muttered apologies.

"And that is the reason I drink!" Morrice glared disgusted at his whiskey next to Enjolras and turning around to grab more to him in a clean and sanitized glass along the bottle of the bitter drink, explaining his overreaction.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and sat in the garrison, breathing through his nose deep enough not to choke again while he tried not to think of the implication of him and Éponine being intimate. This made his cheeks flush along the frustration sensation of him forgetting everything about him as a student, the recent events in his live. Why couldn't things just turn out nicely as did his house or some of the moments he had with someone from his family? It wasn't everything very clear, but it didn't pain him like the lack of information from _Les Amis_ or this girl seeming a bit more curious as time went by.

So frustrating he wanted to punch the wall.

"Although, I'm afraid if I drink more I'll end up like-" at that, Enjolras glanced at Joly who condemned himself at bringing up such inappropriate subject after Enjolras' almost choking to death moment. His eyes were nostalgic when he saw the blue on the blonde's face and then the lost leader knew what he meant.

"_Grantaire_." Joly widened his eyes at that and stopped his stroked as Enjolras blinked his eyes several times, swallowing something sour down his throat. Maybe memories that wouldn't quiet and wouldn't say anything at all.

"Did you remembered-"

"No." Enjolras replied sharply, a throb behind his ear bothering him "The name just slipped." Although shrugging at that, he had a very flustered expression over his pain face.

"He was quite polemic…" Joly said melancholic, smiling to no one in particular and making Enjolras gaze thoughtfully at him "Rather crafty in rile you."

"I suppose." The blonde murmured, gazing back at the window when he heard loud and acute voices coming from the hallway which force Joly to glare at it.

Musichetta and Éponine stormed in the room, complaining about Monsieur Beni's choice of a seamstress as they described the old woman as a very unpleasant being, truly rude to whatever they did or whatever Éponine said.

Enjolras, however, didn't spare a glance at the duo women, recollecting the awkward tension from the last night's dinner since Éponine was still mad at him for reasons much unknown to him.

What did Enjolras know about this girl in the end? Only few pieces of an entire phase in which he was completely lost – he couldn't remember his virtues very well, he couldn't understand his values for doing what he did, and he couldn't remember the faces that supported him through the most difficult time in his entire life…

_Hell_, he couldn't even remember correctly the guy who had the skill to annoy him!

_What did he know, indeed?!_

* * *

Éponine was devouring her dessert, not wanting to do anything else than glaring at the small piece remaining from the petit-gateau melting in her mouth. She could feel Musichetta reprehensive glare in her, but she did nothing much. If she dared looking away from her plate, she might spot the blue eyes she was avoiding since the day before – and she was doing perfectly fine without seeing them.

Or she told her so.

"You may become indisposed after so much sweet, Éponine…" she heard the gentle voice from Joly and rolled her eyes, scoffing.

"I'd say very disposed after so much sugar." Beni muttered to the table and Éponine raised her face, starring daggers at him.

"It doesn't really matter what you give me to eat." She shrugged while cleaning her face and leaning on her comfortable chair, holding the old man's gaze and not bothering with everyone's eyes on her. _Not bothering_ she insisted "I'll do the same, sweet, sour, salted, spicy… I'll have it all." And she smirked greedy at the thought of all the wonderful food she could get.

Gluttony, to be correct, because she could feel her stomach grunting a little at the amount of food she had just ingested. She didn't have much space for the delicious dessert, but she had never tried the marvelous sweet before and, therefore, considering her options, she couldn't be granted to the point of not eating such a beautiful and perfumed cake – it would be thrown away if no one ate it and Éponine was very sure they had dessert everyday, so people grow tired of so much sweet.

She couldn't just let it be thrown away.

"What about the dresses?" Joly asked, going back to the subject, forcing both ladies to roll their eyes "Did you choose any, in the end?"

"Of course!" Musichetta burst out abruptly, crossing her arms over her elegant cleavage and frowning her painted face "We didn't go through all the trouble for nothing." And then her moss green eyes were on Éponine, asking for support and the feisty brunette nodded slowly and fiercely, causing her stomach to twist inside of her.

She had enough, indeed.

"Great!" Joly rose his hand in surrender, smiling gingerly at them then glancing quickly at Enjolras, expecting him to say anything, but the blonde friend only took a sip of his water not being able yet to join his friend with the alcoholic drinks "When she will bring them?"

"I'd rather never see her again, if you must know." Musichetta answered, pouting and glaring sideways. Éponine was grateful at Musichetta taking her pain, though not as much as she should be – her full stomach wouldn't let her.

"I believe she said in about two weeks." Joly gapped at Beni who shrugged "You should've brought a seamstress from Paris if you think she would do it any faster."

"Can you wait that long Éponine?" and that was the cue the feisty brunette was waiting to mock the medical student's name.

She shouldn't, but her nature wouldn't let her.

Her smirk was wide on her face and her eyebrows were very suggestive, merely hinting the people on the table about her next actions "I think I can cope with two weeks standing in this dress, _little Morrice_." And the man in question dropped his face to something grimaced at her, hearing the giggle behind her façade as she fought against her crackle coming along her words "I've had worst, anyway. I don't deserve all of this."

"You deserve all of this and more, if you must know." Éponine jumped on her sit at the blunt reply coming from the butler standing next to her who was currently staring at her "You saved their lives." The man pointed to the gentlemen sharing the dinner table with her and Éponine cursed when her eyes trailed from Joly to the blue ones belonging to Enjolras.

She could feel her stomach screaming at her for feeling this way while nauseated.

"Say no more words about it, Éponine. We're thinking you don't like us anymore." Joly glared at her offended and the brunette merely let her eyes go downwards, apologizing for her lack of gratefulness "Are you singing for us again, _mon amour_?" Joly asked with this dreamy gaze on his eyes towards Musichetta and forcing her pout to go away when he kissed her cheek, making her giggle gaily.

And Éponine travelled to her past, again, seeing that same scene in Rue Plummet, though there was a metal gate between her beloved best friend Marius, the freckled face, sweet smiling and handsome young man while he wooed the beautiful and behaved Cosette, of long eyelashes, big and darling green eyes and blonde locks cascading around her figure in a night gown. The _Fauchelevant_ residence had this beautiful garden with blossoming flowers even on the stone fence circling it, wonderful at the sight, the darkness couldn't touch the light and the warmth coming from it.

And Éponine was the shadow that couldn't bother them, just envy the couple, wondering why she wasn't the girl he kissed the cheek or said beautiful words to. The girl he promised his friends he'd propose someday and bring her to meet them properly. The girl he would love with all his big and bright heart.

Fool little girl would never be the chosen one for any man much better than her. Would never be more than his shadow, the surreal person before him whose touch had no effect over him and never would.

Never me… And she followed the group outside the dinning hall to the parlor where she would try to pay attention into Musichetta's songs at the same time she controlled her whining stomach – she just didn't want to throw up.

* * *

Musichetta did sang as Beni followed playing the piano, filling the parlor with many servants later that night to actually see an Opera singer performing in their employer house – apparently, the country side wasn't a place much visited by entertaining business. They were all in awe and stunned by her beautiful talent and Musichetta couldn't be more joyous for becoming the center of attention once more.

Joly was glad to see his mistress happy, Enjolras figured, as the student wouldn't take his eyes of her as he sipped from his whiskey and hummed along the tune he was very familiar with – once in a while he would ask the _ami_ if he was enjoying the performance without blinking away from his beloved brunette, sitting on the tail of the grand piano and being captivating, then he would whistle and applause her standing on his big feet and winking proud at her, making Musichetta blush, giggle and send kisses to him.

Enjolras was appreciating the performance. He liked the sound of piano playing in the background and there were some moments he'd rather have only the melody without lyrics, without the high pitched voice of the dear opera singer. He had comfort listening to the piano and there was something in him that was nearly desperate to touch the beautiful instrument.

Though he desired to play the grand piano or to listen carefully the foreign words coming from the tall young woman in harmony to the symphony, his mind would keep going back to some information Joly spilled carelessly earlier that day – he could have died choking!

_Simply too close…_ And his eyes darted to the small frame in a baggy, lavender dress staring through the darkness outside the window, her head slightly incline upwards spotting the stars adorning the blackness and half-open eyes, the chocolate brown irises moved ever so thoroughly under the curly eyelashes following the moonless sky. Her brown hair was fully down and waving to the middle of her back engulfing her petite shoulders.

_Simply too close…_

_If_ that statement was as true as anything Enjolras had remembered of his pasts – he relied on the uncanny and untimely memories taking place on his actual life, those he couldn't simply let them be (he postponed the dream he had about this Éponine before barricades through thoughts that he was struck by her accusations, therefore he had a very peculiar dream involving them being intimate – very intimate.

It was still dream.)

- Why she never mentioned a word about them being… _Close_?

_"You forgot me." _

That was a good reason, made sense and logical explanations what _Grégoire Enjolras _sought for, correct?

Why did he feel so shallow, then?

He never noticed when the room got quiet or when she started to move away from the window, obviously desperate to go somewhere else where he wouldn't be. He was sure she knew he was staring at her because she held her chin high and she forced her eyebrows uptight against her forehead, practically hiking outside the parlor, and he could almost swear he had heard her snort as she turned behind the door and vanished.

"Instead of staring, you could say something." The female melodic voice startled him, despite his concentration on trying to read out the mystery feisty mademoiselle who had just left the room not permitting him to jump to his feet. He turned, however, to face the observer and apologize for his horrid manners.

Musichetta had folded arms and an inquisitive glare in her mossy green eyes as Joly stood guarding her side, his long arm embracing her waist and his free hand kept in his pocket – his eyes were bloodshot and half-closed lids. He was nearly drunk.

Enjolras sighed as he stood up and congratulated Musichetta for her beautiful performance, his stance as perfect as ever and one hand running through the mass of golden curls, trying to run from the subject.

Although, in vain.

Musichetta frowned at him "_Monsieur_, you should say something."

Enjolras jointed his hands in his back, his countenance a bit more stern than he mustered "And what should I say, _Mademoiselle_?" he saw the green irises rolling under the curvy eyelashes "I would appreciate some guidance." He answered bluntly, scathingly, and he could see Joly retorting his dizzy face to a bemused one.

Musichetta didn't seem to bother the way Enjolras replied her, because she just answered him at the same way "_Monsieur_, dare I say you have plenty of guidance already." The reproaching tone coming from the soft speaking singer wasn't welcome and the former leader wasn't coping very well with it at the moment "You have not only one, but two dear friends who survived a battle at your side." The low voice contrasted the stiff brows over her eyes "All I want to say is stop caring the weight of the world upon your shoulders, _mon_ _chér ami_." And a soothing hand was in his good shoulder after a long sigh, smoothing his coat and wandering his figure until blue and green met again, a quiet and weary quirk of red lips assured the blonde man she didn't want to scold him anymore "Can you not be you at least while your memories are gone?" she let out a faint chuckle and Joly joined her soon while Enjolras stared at them very confused over her statement "Oh, _chér_, never mind!" and she soothed his face before turning to Joly and kissing him in the mouth.

Musichetta left first, swaying her way out of the parlor and leaving just Joly and Enjolras alone, as usual, before the medical student would join her in his chambers – they had much to do before Musichetta was moving back to Paris and Joly was living everyday as his last day on earth, the _ami_ supposed.

Joly patted him lightly in the shoulder and quirked up one side of his mouth, speaking low and calm "Did you understand what she meant?" Enjolras sighed with a smirk, shaking his head and an amused, comprehensive laugh came from the medical student "Well, I assume you're able to listen something about you from your lost past." There was a playful hint in his words, but Enjolras knew he wasn't making fun of the fact his memories were lost. The situation, most likely, was what made everything amusing for the drunken clumsy friend and Enjolras was eager to listen if it was indeed about him.

Joly leaned in closer and embraced the friend, a peaceful glint in his eyes "When you seemed to be concerned about something, you closed up to yourself, hiding the burden and caring it as long as you could, not letting anyone know of your weakness." The blonde young man didn't know if he should feel glad to know he hasn't changed much from his past self or if he should feel insulted over the fact people recognized he had burdens weakening him; nevertheless, Joly continued to speak "We just didn't know why you used to do it. You kept your distance when things didn't go well and you should do just the opposite. You were always so strict to some prospects, so fierce and fearless when even you feared the most." A warm smile spread across Joly's face, a grateful smile "If anyone asks me, I'll tell them you're a hero." Enjolras furrowed his brows and tried not to laugh at the drank blabber Joly wrapped himself up, but he couldn't help the smirk getting to his lips "Complex and secretive, yet, a hero. The _Marble Man_!"

Enjolras inhaled a laugh before patting the friend in the shoulder and motioning his leave "You should have less liquor, _mon ami_. Some might just question your sanity…" Joly laughed loudly before following the friend.

"Friends are here to share burdens, my friend." The tall friend told Enjolras as the blonde man headed towards his chambers; with a weary face over his drunken one "That's what I'm here for."

Enjolras nodded gratefully and continued his walk to his room, trying to recollect anything about himself, at least himself, so he could start remembering the others. Though he couldn't really place nothing about him – all he had connected to people he couldn't face, couldn't name correctly, people he forgot and promised he wouldn't do such a thing.

Although Joly had been very useful when he mentioned the _Marble Man_, an unpleasant codename as it was, at least at Enjolras point of view, gave him all the sensation he considered being nostalgic – he could even place a very specific voice calling him the marble leader or something of sorts. A giddy, gaily, deep voice, humming incoherent melodies while Enjolras tried to spread his words and convince his fellow of the reasons they had to rebel, not to mention completely unnecessary and distractive songs, definitely not called for the moment.

As the blonde man forced his brain to work, to remember, the back of his right ear throbbed sorely forcing him to loose his track of thoughts to cuss the darned wound cause of all his concerns after such dreadful attempt risking his life. He wanted to kill the bastard who shot the bullet that caught his head, he wanted deeply to throw all his problems to the air and pretend they would go away as he would murder the man who forced his memories loose from his mind.

Then, again, things wouldn't play in his way – and, even if they did, the respectable young man, full of virtues he had no idea how came to him, though he was very thankful of their presence, would never be able to not worry over unsolved deeds; to blame all of them in someone who shot the bullet probably under the due of the work, probably for the lack of options like the people of France he loved so much he couldn't exactly tell why.

The voice started to ring again in his head when he got to his spacious room very unfamiliar to him without the hospital beds and crosses hanging on the walls, aggravating the frown on his face as he hiked towards the large and comfortable bed filled of pillows and things completely unnecessary, merely decorations to pleasant eyes not his – too much for his sight. Too much information…

Simultaneously, not enough information!

What he needed to know he had naught and what he regarded trivial he had plenty. Why it was so difficult to turn the tides? To let him know? Why was it?

He was slowly going insane and he couldn't even tell why. A great leader indeed…

* * *

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	6. Excuses

**_Notes:_ Goodnight, you guys! (or good morning depending where you are!)**

**Either way, another chapter of Mémoire, although I think I might be distancing the pov from Enjolras since the last chapter, but this one is a bit dramatic and with some memories of Éponine, which are dreadfully important! So, must I say, eventually, the pov will change, but it is mainly about Enjolras!**

**As for the memories, I don't know how it works with amnesia or things like that, but I guess the time fluctuate from person to person and it's only been a little more than a week he lost them, so it will take some time for him to get to remember Les Amis de L'Abaissé. But he will! Don't concern yourselves over it!**

**I'm so thankful for all your following/ favoriting/ reviewing! I am! :D Just show me you are around anyway and it'll make me the happiest person ever!**

**Okay! I'll stop talking and let you guys read the chapter! Enjoy. :3**

* * *

**Excuses**

* * *

When Enjolras entered the dining hall to take breakfast with his host and his friends, he was alone with a long table filled of delicious scenting food, warm and waiting to be eaten, and it warned him there was something amiss. He was an early riser, yes; however, at least _Monsieur Beni_ was there in the corner, waiting for some responsible young man or woman to wake up and start the day properly.

This time, not even the huge windows were opened to let the fresh breeze of the morning inside the warm winter house.

Enjolras frowned and turned back the way he came, feeling his curls falling over his face as his stride forced a rushed wind through his golden hair wet from his early shower, he had his red waistcoat over a white shirt and his dark trousers, as usual, his leather boots announcing his presence in the broad hallways as he searched for his friends, feeling deeply lost.

"_Monsieur_?" a female soft voice called him and Enjolras turned abruptly, his stern glass blue eyes adorned by his furrowed blonde brows startled the young maid, not older than him, who blushed wildly and apologized for calling him. He waved it off and excused his manners, not explaining the obvious. She seemed to have something to tell him, anyway "I-I believe _Monsieur_ Joly and _Monsieur_ Beni are in _Mademoiselle's_ room." She bowed, scared to make eye contact again.

He nodded, uneasy, appreciating her information and marching towards Musichetta's chambers, concerned about her. Éponine would probably be there also and he still hasn't figured out the reasons she was angry at him, ignoring him.

(He had a clue and he bet it had something with his lost memories, though she said she wasn't sure if she would forgive him or not. In the end, he went back to his starting point.)

What was wrong with the opera singer? She seemed well enough the last night to scold him for being stagnant towards Éponine. Joly would probably make a fuss out of no matter what kind of malaise, but Beni wouldn't be there if it was something usual. Indeed, strange.

* * *

Éponine groaned as she wiped her mouth with the white towel, now smudged and damp, wearing a pale light nightgown and sitting in the edge of the soft bed she was currently sleeping in – not as well as she used to sleep in the cobblestones. She would manage – with her head between her knees and a bucket between her legs, which was filled of the previous night wonderful dinner and the delicious dessert – she had to say appeared anything but delicious at the time.

Sitting by her side was Musichetta, rubbing her back and pulling her hair from her face, humming soft melodies to soothe her as the feisty brunette kept complaining about her lack of good manners, her desperate glutton and the fact she would never eat so much again. Musichetta was in her nightgown, also, though it was much more beautiful and the scarlet color highlighted her dark green eyes. Her ebony hair was in a half bun and the curls cascaded down her back.

"_Stop touching_ _her_, Musichetta! She might be infected!" Joly screams were muffled by the cloth covering his mouth. He was next to Éponine also, though he had gloves on his hands and his white coat, every inch of skin covered and his eyes protected behind the glasses.

Éponine saw in the peripheral the singer rolling her eyes at what her lover, ignoring whatever he was saying. The gamine just wanted to punch him for being so lunatic about illnesses.

"She just overate." Monsieur Beni told Morrice bringing a silver tray with a jar of water and some glasses. He made a peaceful face while resting the objects over her bed and pouring some water into a glass for her "You need to take better care of yourself, Éponine."

Éponine wanted to say she wasn't ever going to eat again, however years of starvation forced her to swallow the words with the water, trying to focus in everything but her empty stomach and the gruesome sight of the bucket near her.

"Please, take it away." The gamine pled, straightening her back and running her hands through her mass of dark hair, tangled from her tough night of trying to sleep.

Musichetta made a disgusted grimace when a handmaid rushed through the room and dragged the bucket with her, _Monsieur Beni_ asked Éponine if she was sure she wouldn't need it anymore and she nodded, promising she would be fine and she just needed some sleep – Éponine had many times of food poisoning when she lived with her parents, since they used to buy the cheapest food or even pluck it from the fancy districts' garbage and give to her and Azelma. Most of the time, Éponine would drag herself through the filthy Parisian streets and throw up in the narrow alleyways while trying to steal some money to buy decent food. She would get better if she rested for awhile after throwing up her bile and then she would feel hunger again.

Although, this time, she wouldn't wait days for her next meal and she had not the need to feel awful for throwing up – except she did feel awful because there are people starving while she throws up due her lack of self control.

"Are you certain it was just the amount of food, Éponine? Are you certain you aren't infected with _the plague_?" Joly trembled while he asked, shooing Musichetta from the gamine's side not touching the feisty little brunette.

"_Yes_, _Morrice_, I'm certain I _do not_ have cholera." She was sure to glare at him and Joly dropped the subject, muttering some words of better safe than sorry, and put up his joyful grin as taking off the cloth covering his face and keeping the gloves inside the pockets of his medical coat.

Musichetta pushed Éponine back to the bed, smoothing her pillows and caressing her damp forehead, smiling reassuringly "You'll kill us someday, _ma chérie_." The singer spoke and Éponine let a tired quirk up in the corners of her mouth "Will you do alright alone?" the concerned mossy green eyes demanded honesty and the gamine nodded, surrendering to her exhaustion.

"Absolutely." Éponine yawned and Musichetta covered her under the cotton sheets "I've bothered you for too long already and it isn't even midday." She put a perk smirk in her dimpled cheeks "I'll do alright."

"Well, you can scream or break a vase and we'll rush here to attend you." Morrice promised, his hands kept in his pockets and his eyes softer.

"I'll have a maid outside your door, Éponine. No need for struggle." Beni sent the couple the look of a very experienced old man, a bit annoyed over the youngsters' shallow and playful requests, and bowed before leaving.

"Need anything else?" Musichetta asked pointing towards the curtains filled of flounces letting the bright sun rays fill the beautiful room.

Éponine shook her head, very fond of the sunlight and the way it warmed the large room, approaching her bedpost and sending heat to her cold, small body. She felt as if the sun was her medicine and it would keep the shadows away – she wished it to work that way, even if she was very aware the darkness would never leave her.

After all, _people don't change._

Éponine felt her mind drifting away as soon as the couple left her chambers with a low thud of the heavy door, her chocolate brow eyes closing lazily and the quietness coming from her complaining stomach, obviously with no reasons to complain anymore. She was warm and safe in a soft mattress with sunlight inside her room and being taken care of people who were fond of her. She could try to let the past behind her…

For now, while she's ill and wounded and exhausted.

_Just for now_ she could forget the barricade and the faces, her little brother, along the fact Enjolras forgot it all. She could, it was her rights.

And she was so whacked… She fell asleep in a couple of minutes.

* * *

_Marius had once again left the _Café Musain_ to search for meet in secret with his beloved and beautiful Cosette, without her properly being aware of him actually leaving her alone in the upper floor of the noisy hall filled with loud students blabbering about the poor and the damned kind._

_She stood alone once more in a dark corner of the crowded place. His dear friends sat in the tables, drinking and mesmerizing a world only present in the land of dreams, a world she was certain to her bones it would never become real, due to her life of misery and reality. She would scoff a couple of times when some schoolboys would cross her way and talk about justice and education and proper life conditions to all citizens of France._

Those kids have no idea where they are sticking their slimy noses.

_She wasn't wearing her disguise this time, no. She should've disguised herself to sit on a table and wait until Marius Pontmercy would be around, but she believed her attempts at being a gamin had been discovered by those students or, how they used to call their little revolutionary group, _Les Amis de L'Abaissé_. _

How typical…_ She scoffed rolling her eyes and folding her sharp edgy arms over her practically flat chest, a frown in her dirty face behind the tangled mucky locks, her torn clothes and dark patterns in the corner would only give her alias as a shadow a reason to exist. Her eyes centered in the main group of revolutionary, the ones Marius was more attached to. They sat near the balcony and they couldn't be twenty five, none of them. _

_Not at all._

_They were barely older than Éponine, she could see the glint of youth in those bright eyes and grinning faces, the cunning of lads written all over their gestures, the spring of life she would never get to know because she was miserable and no one would take that away from her troubled self. _

They think they can change the world with their virtues and ideology to something appeasing for their pretty eyes._ She could feel her brown, dark orbs rolling and her nostrils snorting at the immature thought. _Boys, all of them… Only boys…

_She was certain she had stared them for enough time to be noticed and she could see their eyes on her, frightened over the memory of her outburst towards their leader, _Marble Man_, if she was correct – she hadn't time to pay attention to their dandy surnames while Marius was around and being her perfect ideal of a lover she fancied. She assured herself to be proud after storming out of the Café leaving all of them appalled to her speech. Not only bourgeois could speak shockingly of her kind of people, she decided with a smile on her neglected lips while chewing on them as she marched back to the _Gorbeau House_, a whole city away from the _Boulevard Saint Michel _where the schoolboys used to meet._

_No ordinary being would make that nosy, handsome bourgeois shut his mouth. Not even his friends, in a heated argument, could outcome his skill with the words and the charismatic replies that would come out of his thin lips. Even if his marble forehead would sweat and cling to the golden unruly curls, he wouldn't let that stop him from yelling his words of _egalité, fraternité et liberté_, nor would it prevent the stern stares his indigo blues eyes would sent to every face in the room – and he was certain he glared at every single one in that crowded hall._

_Éponine couldn't help the haughty silly thoughts taking over her brain when she walked home that day, thoughts of her presence might helping the boys to give up their expectations on her people and to live their flawless lives without risking them to people like her – until she arrived the Gorbeau and was welcomed with a handful slap in the side of her face, throwing her back to the walls behind the stairs, shortly followed by some beating to remember the _Jondrette_ girl who she really was and where she belonged._

_Not with the bright boys from the _Sorbonne_._

_The eyes didn't let her face and Éponine was considering the idea of leaving the place, feeling unwanted and noticed – someone like her with her tricks and antics should never be spotted when she desired not to be seen. And, yet, here she was, giving away one thing she has protected since she first got to Paris and learned how unfortunate life is – her presence._

_However, before her rapid feet could lead her down the stairs and off the Café facing the beautiful _Jardin du Luxembourg_, a tall schoolboy, very close to Marius, she had noticed before, of black curly hair and brown kind eyes, pampered coat and agile feet, made his way towards her, a reckless smirk on his boyish face, taking the tension away as he stood in front of her and bowing his head slightly towards the mess she was._

_"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle." He winked one of his eyes, giving his hand to hold hers, his voice much too cheeky for her delight. Éponine merely arched one of her eyebrows in response, unaware of his intentions "I believe you're friend with _mon ami_ Pontmercy." _Those boys and the surnames… _Éponine glared at him with her guardedly expression, attempting on scaring him enough for him to drop the subject. In despite of her spite, he didn't seem annoyed or offended, for the matter. The stupid grin never leaving his silly face "I'm _Courfreyac_ and I believed we've met before." Yes, they did – he was probably there when she screamed with the blonde leader. Why did he feel the need to talk to her, anyway? And now he was holding a chuckle and had a glint very suspicious in his eyes "I must say I've became your admirer after your exciting speech countering my friend over there." And he motioned over his shoulder to the group of friends in which had the handsome leader staring at her along his friends, all of them quiet trying to overhear their conversation. Courfreyc didn't seem to bother, so he just continued to speak, his hand the place he left it and awaiting for Éponine to greet him properly "It was a very passionate speech, dare I say."_

_Éponine could feel the smug feeling coming back to her while he complimented her prideful speech the other night, though she pushed down the bashful look her eyes wanted to give this Monsieur Courfreyac for his cheekiness and the blushing rising over his presence remaining after all her effort to push him away. _

_"It would be lovely if I were to know your name, Mademoiselle." Well, the bastard was good at plucking information from others, him and his suggestive eyes and reckless smirk. _

_The gamine rolled her eyes, trying not to feel the burning in her cheeks as she gave her hand to the bourgeois to place a kiss in her grime knuckles, not looking away from her stormy eyes. She curtsied him, the clumsiest curt he would ever see in his life she was very sure, and glanced back at his brown eyes "I'm Éponine. I'm no mademoiselle, Monsieur." Courfreyac shrugged and gave his arm for her to take it, though she didn't move and nor did he._

_"Then, I'm no monsieur." he winked one of his eyes to her and motioned his head again towards his friends "Would you care to join me and my friends for a pleasant conversation? Although I'm very sure I'm your number one admirer, they all seem very astounded to your thoughts from the other day." _

_Éponine shook her head, trying to step back into the shadows, too much light was blinding her and the darkness would soon complain about her leaving. She couldn't be there much longer without her Marius._

_"I beg your pardon, monsieur-"_

_"Courfreyac." He insisted and Éponine tried not to curse to being abruptly interrupted in her attempts of running away._

_"_Courfreyac_," she said grimacing to herself and being aware he would bother her if she wouldn't call him through his name "And I appreciate your concern, but I can't stay." _I belong nowhere in here.

_"Are you sure?" he asked blinking his full eyelashes and seeming rather sad "I heard Pontmercy would come back later." Éponine furrowed her eyebrows and saw the understanding eyes of this Courfreyac boy – he _knew_ her feelings for Marius. Before she could make more out of his unreadable expression, he continued "I'm certain he would be disappointed not to see his _dearest friend_ tonight."_

Dearest friend?_ Éponine blushed at Courfreyac's addressing her like this and her thoughts were back on Marius _He says I'm his dearest friend?!_ And she could almost smile at this._

_It couldn't be a lie, could it be? This Courfreyac lad didn't exactly exhale trustworthy, but he's seen her and Marius around, they are close enough to be identified as a couple. She could stay and wait for Marius with his friends, couldn't she? It wouldn't be so uncanny of her to be around his bourgeois _amis_. _

_She was his dearest friend, after all, and he could come back later!_

_Éponine sighed and pursued her lips, pulling her hair off her face and tangling her slender arm in Courfreyac's waiting one. He showed his yellowed teeth, the slight scent of liquor coming out from him could be washed away with the soap flagrance of his clothes. He didn't seem to bother her awful vests or the layers of filth covering her olive skin._

_She could feel normal for at least a night, couldn't she?_

_He led her to the table near the small balcony, his smirk spread from ear to ear as he would hear some of his friends jesting about his skills with the ladies and Éponine started to regret her decision of joining those boys._

_They were _just_ boys!_

_"_Mes amis_, I would like to introduce you the most clever mademoiselle we've ever met." she couldn't help blush over his flatters. She could feel her eyes going to the wooden floor beneath her bare feet over that "Éponine, meet _Les Amis de L'Abaissé_." And Courfreyac was very amused to spread his free arm across the table to point out all of the eyes staring at her._

_And she thought they were just a few from far away._

_She bowed her head slightly, not convinced her curtsy would do her any good at the rate – she was ashamed for taking this lad seriously and following his unreadable eyes. She wanted to punch him, but she had no intimacy and she wouldn't want any with this ladies man bourgeois – she had plenty of unwanted intimacy with other people around her slums._

_The silence ruled for a couple of seconds, one of the schoolboys, of chestnut hair and a calm expression, cleaned his throat and stood up, his stance of a gent and the light green eyes matched the light colors of his clothes highlighting the belt around his torso of straps in French colors. He walked to her and Courfreyac let go of her arm, going away for a moment to grab Éponine a chair. _

_The one of bright appearance and bright colors went by _Combeferre_ and he was the kindest of all of _Les Amis_. He smiled pleasantly at the cautious eyes of the gamine and bowed taking and kissing the back of her hand "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mademoiselle Éponine." Éponine felt herself blush despite her reply._

_"Merci. I fear I'm no mademoiselle, monsieur." Her eyes darted to the floor and then someone else took her hand other hand, dragging her near him and startling her._

_"Fear not, ma chérie." A pair of huge green eyes startled her, the irises slightly dilated and the eyelids half-opened. He had curly ebony hair and whiskey breath, but he was as handsome as the other young men. He dramatically bowed at her, holding his bottle of liquor in the other hand and making flourishes after kissing her knuckles, motioning to his friends. His eyes continued in hers, never the less "We leave it to the bald man over there." And a laughter shared between Les Amis de L'Abaissé expecting two lads, the dark skinned bald man, who was currently complaining about being involved in his courting lines, and the handsome marble leader, who merely his moves to a roll of indigo eyes darting them towards the gamine "I'm _Grantaire_, at your service." _

_"She needs not _your_ service!" a charming lad grabbed her hand from Grantaire and stared daggers at the drunkard, his hand very gentle to touch, and his voice was harmonic and a bit drastic, making the other students to laugh at his overreaction. His clothes were a bit whacky and he had dark blonde, wavy hair in a low tail. His eyes were brightly green and soft and his cheeks seemed to be painted in pink giving away his healthy. Éponine would say he was rather feminine to young men, but he would probably feel embarrassed and offended. She chose to say naught. This young man had dreamy eyes and a gentle smile that reminded her dear Marius – she hoped he would get there soon "I sincerely apologize for the lack of manners of that _scoundrel_!" She saw the shame in his eyes and she shook her head, telling him not to worry about that "My name is _Jean Prouvaire_, Mademoiselle Éponine, and it's indeed a pleasure to finally getting to know you." He bowed and kissed her knuckles, pulling her chair and waiting for the others to introduce themselves before sitting her._

_"_Jehan_, she's tough. She can handle the bum." At that statement, Éponine felt a smirk creeping in one side of her face and she turned to the dandy brunette, of a skin similar to the tone of hers, black hair and wearing a smug grin on his handsome face – he was the student who could mostly pass as a manly figure. He was tall and muscular and he had something in his slacker brown eyes he hadn't always have an easy life. He bowed to her and wandered his eyes through her small frame, winking in the end "As for me, you can call me _Bahorel_." _

_She grinned sideways and nodded her head, having her attention drawn to another student before she had the time to appreciate the tough compliment – somewhat it had made her regrets of talking to the students go away for a moment._

_He had curly red hair and big brown eyes, slightly freckled skin, nothing to compare to her dear Marius perfectly freckled skin, and she could see stains of ink in his fingertips and in his vests which weren't as clean as the others students. Although he wore clothes in a better state than hers, Éponine was sure this young man wasn't anything near to bourgeois and the calloused strong head proved her that. _

_"Never mind those fools. They've been in presence of women before, although they would rather not speak openly of their thoughts over our revolution." He smirked widely and Éponine decided not to take as an insult the implying women didn't speak their mind as the gamine in front of him. He bowed slightly and Éponine curtsied him slightly, wanting to know the reasons a working man was joining those schoolboys – although she had already been answered "I'm _Feuilly_." And he shrugged, smirking a bit tipsy "I'm a fan maker."_

_Éponine nodded, trying to not be rude to the slightly drunk man, then turned to the happiest of all, waving his hand to the mademoiselle and telling her he wouldn't approach her because he hand no clean handkerchief in him at the moment to greet her properly. He had dark auburn hair and green eyes, redness from the liquor in his smiling cheeks and a very clumsy stance for a tall lad as himself. _

_"I apologize, Mademoiselle, but you wouldn't appreciate catching a cold." And he turned around to sneeze, his nose red and he clearly disgusted "I told you, _Lesgle_! I have the flu! I need my syrup…" and he looked through the chairs searching for his flask._

_Éponine felt like laughing when the bald man rolled his eyes and stretched his hand with the flask to _Joly_, the hypochondriac, as Jehan had whispered in her ear knowing the most excited man in their little revolutionary group had forgotten introducing himself due his absentminded. _

_The bald man of kind eyes and slightly reckless expression threw his hands in the air while forgiving himself, big brown eyes matching the chocolate color of his skin, a whiter smile than anyone else around "Pardon, Mademoiselle, however, regarding my bad luck, it is the best to greet this way." Éponine fought the urge of rolling her eyes, those silly boys and their beliefs. The bald man continued "You may call me _Bossuet_, Mademoiselle Éponine." And she nodded._

_"The unluckiest man alive!" a choir composed of Grantaire, Courfreyac, Joly and Bahorel made her chuckle along them._

_"At least some have fun with my fortune…" He rolled his eyes and took his seat next to Joly, reeling in his way and almost breaking the wood chair with a loud thud. _

_"You quite live up to it, mon ami." Joly replied the friend taking his seat next to him after pulling the flask down and patting the friend in the back._

_The last to introduce himself was the leader who glanced at her and nodded before shutting his book close and standing up, he seated by the balcony, across from her place in the table, and he seemed inquiring something in return. She knew he was tall; not this tall, though. He was exactly like a statue of marble, ruthless and breathtaking, pulling out sighs from the _grisettes_ serving the clientele visiting the Café, as stretched his strong, smooth hand to grasp hers over the round table and rub his thin lips over the back of her hand, locking the air in her throat for a second or two._

_She wasn't shocked by his polished manners; she just wasn't fond of him due his furor of imposing his ideas into someone else's line of thoughts. For Éponine, this leader of Les Amis was merely a spoiled bourgeois, wanting the world to succumb to whatever he desired – he had good intent, the feisty brunette knew that, she could see right through the fierce glass-blue eyes locked in hers. Yet, sadly, the world wasn't this boy's to do as he pleases._

_It would be a beautiful world, otherwise – a very bored one, indeed, beautiful, still._

_"I assume we haven't met properly before." He spoke, his dreadful serious voice walking her from her delusions and bringing her back to the café, letting go of her hand and signalizing for her to sit "It was an impressive speech." She nodded gratefully feeling Jehan pushing her chair and practically locking her between the wooden seat and the round table. _

_"_Spectacular_ speech, you mean." Courfreyac interrupted, his hand rose calling a grisette to serve a glass and a plate of macaroons for the mademoiselle joining them._

_The leader patted his nostrils and sighed deeply, staring daggers at the cheeky Courfreyac sitting by Éponine's side, but he continued shortly, glaring his indigo and beautiful orbs at her "Abrupt and sapid; an impressive speech nevertheless." He continued, jointing his hands and leaning at the back of his seat, his backs straightened and his head held high "If you could, would you tell us more about your ideals?" _

_Éponine inclined her head sideways, slightly and taking in his beautiful and long words. She sighed and mimicked his gesture, jointing her fingers and laying her dirty hand over the table, though she leaned forward to speak, stern on her brown eyes "My ideals or the ideals of people as I, monsieur-?" she waited for him to answer and he nodded, staring at her._

_"_Enjolras_." And she finally got to know the name of the marble man, the leader of the revolutionary group, the charismatic and handsome schoolboy, and the most respectable young man of Les Amis de L'Abaissé._

_"_My ideals or the ideals of people as I_?" she asked again, choosing not to use names for the time._

_She was certain to make him speechless again, though he didn't seem as petulant and blindfolded as before. This time, when she asked using her scathingly voice, she could see the ghost of a smirk crossing his thin, soft lips and the fire glinting behind his eyes – she fought the urge to blush over his glance and when the macaroons arrived served in front of her by a _grisette_ who stared daggers at her for being seated with those precious boys, her attention was slightly dodged from the handsome marble man, of golden curls, almost smirking at her, to the delicious plate and her groaning stomach._

_She started to devour the food, restraining herself the best she could, and the boys started to yell at each other over her conversation with their leader among other things she judged not being related to the revolutionary subject. Enjolras, however, didn't took his eyes from her while he spoke to Combeferre, who pointed out some of the words Éponine has said the first time she met and paid attention to those schoolboys' words. _

_When the group quiet down for a couple of minutes and Éponine had eaten the entire tray on her own, cursing herself for taking charity from other people – even if they were friends of Marius. _Especially_ because they were friends with Marius they couldn't pitied her and offered her food without properly asking her if she wanted – although she was sure her looks would deny any opportunity she would have to refuse the food (it's been a week since she had decent food, already, and the last time she ate anything, she was poisoned and puked for a whole night); Enjolras decided to speak to her again, answering her question with a regardful gaze._

_"We all would listen to what you know, mademoiselle." Éponine grinned unfazed._

_"I don't know much, monsieur." He shook his head._

_"You know enough to teach us." She arched an eyebrow and then furrowed them, inquiring a proper request from the leader and Enjolras took his chance to lean away from the backrest of the chair and support one of his arms over the table, ever so graceful. His deep voice loud enough solemnly for his group of friends to listen "The way you spoke some days ago, the crudity in the words you made of your every day life. We must know it, be familiar with it, before we are able to bring the people to their righteous place." The brunette pursued her lips and, wandering her eyes through the handsome faces of the other boys sharing the table, how expectant they looked at her, she could see Marius' silly face in most of them, wondering and dreaming of this beautiful world of theirs without knowing the world she lived in, still wanting to change it for the better. Enjolras was the last similar to Marius and somewhat it comforted Éponine to think what she truly wanted to say "What would you suggest for us to draw the people's attention and make them rise?" _

_She shrugged and folded her arms, leaning at the backrest of her wooden chair "If you're truly involved with this revolution of yours," she could see Enjolras clutching his jaw and she arched a daring brow over his sternness "You could put yourselves in the place of people as I." all of them, including monsieur marble man, widened their eyes dumbstruck at her simple reply, gaping their mouth and furrowing their thick brows slightly. She shrugged once again, drawing their attention and resting her hands flat in the table, feeling the oak patterns "It's somewhat a sacrifice, I suppose. All of you, ditching your lives to live as someone as myself…" she shook the thought away, grimacing at her own life "Not the best of deals to make, indeed." And when she was back to Enjolras face he wasn't looking at her eyes anymore, he looked down, his brows knitted together as he clenched his jaw, considering everything she just said._

_Her eyes wandered to Combeferre who was glaring at every face, then Enjolras', before straightening his posture in breathing deeply, understanding what his friend was plotting. The rest, at least, were a bit clueless – or pretended to not comprehend where this was going. Éponine took a minute herself to see the concerned, calm face of Combeferre and she widened her brown eyes, waving her hands and drawing the eyes back to her, expect for Enjolras – he was already deep in his plot to step back._

_"No! Don't you _dare_ even think about it!" Courfreyac was biting his fingernails, Grantaire didn't look her in the eye while drinking the remaining of the liquor in his bottle, Jehan played with the end of his hair in the tail while Joly had something of an asthmatic bout and Bossuet grasped Feuilly's fan to wave it in front of his friend's face in order to make him breathe again – the fan maker tapped his lonely fingers over the table just to not face Éponine's frightening face. Meanwhile, Bahorel grimaced to his bottle and tried to balance himself in one leg of his chair and Combeferre pitched the bridge of his nose, not comfortable with the entire situation. Éponine scoffed and slammed her fists in the table, forcing even Enjolras to look at her "You cannot possibly be _serious_!" _

_"We are _dreadful_ serious about the revolution that will give back the rights of all citizens of France." Enjolras replied her, he wore a frown over his handsome face and he straightened his back, once more holding his head high "And, if to accomplish this success my privileged life needs to be put aside, so be it." _

_Éponine couldn't decide if she wanted to strangle him to death or if she should feel flattered over such passion dedicated to people as she… _

_The people weren't she and she shouldn't be flattered because of them. She didn't love Patria like those bourgeois students and if she was a privileged young man, going to the university and in the spring of her life, she would probably turn her back on the country and live her perfect bourgeois life._

Stupid bourgeois!

* * *

She woke up at the sunset, the orange sunlight coming from large windows the other side of the room. She felt her stomach groaning and her throat screaming for water, so she sat in her bed, not very aware of her surroundings, and reached for the tray Beni had left earlier – she remember Joly had placed it in the drawer by the comfortable bed.

She poured herself some water, the nauseating feeling thankfully gone, and sipped from the glass, glad for the sensation. She forced her eyes shut for a few moments and decided to stand up and search for the kitchen where she would try not to overeat and feel indisposed again.

Though when she was about to reach the door she hear a low thud of shutting book and someone's cleaning his throat, startling her and forcing her to turn abruptly at the gentleman standing up from the settee near the sunlit window and glaring agog eyes at her with his blond brow arched, inquiring her fighting stance in which hurt the bruise in her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he mumbled, striding carefully towards her, a concerned and almost cynical countenance at his face.

"What are _you_ doing _here_?!" Éponine was slightly breathless at the sight of the Apollo, without his waistcoat and with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows – a very similar image to the one she had just dreamed of. He had his unruly curls bothering his face, so he ran his hand through his hair and let her take a better look at his handsome marble face.

He shrugged, hugging the book with one arm and keeping the free hand safely in the pocket of his dark trousers "I had no idea you were indisposed and I want to help in anyway I can." She was appalled at how he could say those compromising words without feeling the weight of them.

_Incredibly annoying this bourgeois…_

She gestured towards herself, grinning ironically to him and folded her arms over her chest "As you can see, I'm alright now. No need to bother." He clenched his jaw and stopped only when he was in front of her. She gestured towards the door but he didn't seem to motion towards it at the slightest "Well?" she inquired, furrowing her brows.

He folded his lean, muscular arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes "Alright for someone who was about to throw a punch in the guest…" He said scathingly and Éponine found herself scowling.

"_Unwanted_ guest…" She retorted, but Enjolras paid no attention to her reply.

"With the best of intentions." He supported his last statement and she tightened the grip in her fists.

"Still unwanted and inconsiderate!" she yelled and he frowned.

"Well, I was here to _considerate_ your well-being, _Mademoiselle_. How could I be inconsiderate?" she wasn't appreciating the turn their argument was taking. He said through gritted teeth, gapping his nostrils "What kind of person you take me for?" he had those deep blue eyes of his locked in hers and she couldn't look away because they were just dazzling.

She hated those dazzling eyes!

"Have you remembered who I am?!" she replied trying to change subjects, hating herself for going back to the matter of his memories, but he didn't seem to follow her in this path.

"Are we talking about _you_ or about _me_?" he was _quoting_ her?! Was it for real?!

"We were talking about _this_, not over a _physical person_!" she referred struggling to keep up to his replies.

"No. We were talking about _your_ thoughts of _me_." Éponine widened her eyes at his bluntness, gaping her mouth and stepping back, extremely taken aback. She had no idea how to answer to this – her cheeks were _burning_! He clenched his jaw once more and held his head high, glaring above her head, and put his free hand behind his back "And it would be most considerate of you, hence I would be very grateful, to know the reasons you ignored me the past couple days."

Éponine blinked a few times and snorted, rolling her eyes and letting her arms fall limp at her sides. She sighed heavily and pitched the bridge of her nose, forgetting she had a very awful injury in that hand, soon regretting the movement, and hesitantly glanced back at Enjolras who wasn't still looking in her eyes.

She made a flourish with her hands and looked down while she explained to him she was angry at his way of staring at her when she was wearing Musichetta's dress, which was beautiful, though too loose around her scrawny body, and he was the one ignoring her joke when they met at the balcony and she felt embarrassed because he wouldn't speak to her. Then when he asked what was wrong, he never apologized and she decided to stop blabbering because she was self-conscious of her situation at the moment and she was almost getting a fever due her shame going all the way up to her head.

She couldn't see his eyes anymore, for a long time since she started explaining her reasons; her sight was in the space between his feet in the pair of leather boots he was very fond of. Though she could see him moving slightly, it took a whole minute for the marble man to reply her other outburst.

"I see now what you take me for." Éponine frowned and glanced up, his indigo eyes in her face and dreadfully serious, a soft hint of discontent in them and she wanted to interrupt him. He didn't let her, as usual "One who would judge the other's for what she wears and how she acts based on my background." He was grim, she couldn't help trying to stop him from talking and let her explain better "I think there was indeed a mistake in here, Mademoiselle. I apologize for invading your quarters." He grabbed the book and made a slight bow, motioning to leave "I assure you this will not happen again."

"Enjolras… Wait!" Éponine couldn't move because her stupid feet wouldn't obey her, nor would her annoyance leave her voice.

Enjolras didn't turn back and he wouldn't come back later. She was wrong, again, and she would have to deal with the insufferable marble leader in resentful of her thoughts of him. It would be better if she had lied about it, it would probably be the best…

She was interrupted by her groaning stomach, this time it was hunger and not pain. She rolled her eyes and went through the same way the bourgeois had gone to, running down the stairs and searching for Beni who was in the parlor in company of Musichetta and Joly drinking some tea – no sight of Enjolras for the moment.

"What's wrong, _ma chérie_?!" Musichetta wondered spotting the gamine in her nightgown, the discontent countenance all over her face.

How can she always know what's going on?

The beautiful singer found the gamine half way and Joly stood up to wait for the ladies to approach him. Beni had his eyes on the feminine duo.

A glint of understanding hovered over her mossy green orbs and Musichetta narrowed the eyes full of long lashes "Have you seen Enjolras?" Éponine nodded slightly, deeply annoyed "_Well_?! What happened?!" Musichetta was struggling not to shake the injured gamine.

Éponine snorted and gestured her bony, wrapped hands "What do you think happened? We had a fight for a change!" the brunette groaned and passed the singer, hiking towards Joly and standing her hand to him "I think I did something wrong with it. Could you check the stitches?"

Joly nodded a bit frightened from her outburst. He gulped and asked for Beni to grab his medical beg, sitting the gamine in one of the settees spread through the beautiful large hall and trying not to cross her eyes.

"Do you intend in sharing the details with us?" Musichetta blurted grimacing and folding her eyes, not sitting with the duo. She even stomped her foot rhythmically in the stone floor.

Éponine stared daggers at the beautiful ebony haired woman in front of her, but gave up when saw the stubborn glare in her eyes and sighed heavily, her hand being unwrapped by the medical student "He was peeking at me while I was sleeping! I couldn't let it pass like nothing…" the street accent in her annoyed voice was almost amusing if Musichetta wasn't sulking over those stupid friends of hers.

"He offered to check on you while we were downstairs!" Musichetta hissed and Éponine was a bit appalled. She looked at Joly to be certain and the clumsy gentleman merely nodded.

"He was concerned about your health. Much familiar to you when we were in the hospital." Éponine pretended she didn't blush and held her chin high, attempting on getting furious with the couple annoying her.

"Very considerate of him, worrying about me and unnerving me the first thing I'm awake…" She murmured mockingly and she could feel Musichetta rolling her eyes.

"I'm considering giving up on you two." Joly muttered and Éponine stared daggers at the gentle physician, his expression questioning hers and forcing him to snort slightly "Éponine, it wasn't exactly a secret that time you-"

"_Stop_." Now she was extremely serious, not even the burning on her cheeks would lessen the weight of her glare at the kind and currently jumpy green eyes of the tall friend not leaving her face. Musichetta exchanged her eyes between the two of them, wondering what was going on, but Éponine was certain that Joly hasn't had the time yet to talk about the past concerning others to his singer mistress. Therefore, it was better not to talk about the past now.

After all, it _was_ forgotten.

And the heavy glare from the dark brown eyes forced the clumsy hypochondriac to drop the subject and follow his previous actions as to take care of her wounded hand. Beni shortly arrive, then, feeling the tension in the air and noticing that Musichetta wasn't in good spirits due the secret kept from her. Being the butler, he would not delve in the matter so he asked all of them if they wanted some more tea before dinner was served.

"_I_ am the one giving up on _you two_!" Musichetta blurted out, gnawing outside the parlor and hiking her high heels in the stone floor.

After she left, Joly let out a breathe as he wrapped again some more thick bandages in the bony, drilled hand of the gamine, being as cautious as ever and smoothing it after tightening the knot for the straps not to fall. Beni was there, but it doesn't matter if he was to know or not – Éponine couldn't find in her the will to argue about that at the moment.

She had dream about the past that should be forgotten. She was the most idiotic person she would ever know. And she couldn't find in her the strength to let go of those warm moments at the Café with her schoolboys and her beloved little brother.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, _mon ami_." Joly apologized and Éponine nodded, batting her eyes and hiding her face "I just really don't understand why you won't say anything."

She shrugged, rubbing her eyes with her free hand and cringing in her spot at the settee "He didn't choose to forget, but he did. And I think…" her voice faltered a bit and Joly squeezed her hand to let her know he was there. She was embarrassed, though she wasn't willing to stop the tears now. It's been awhile since she cried over the past "It's better this way." Joly sighed and Éponine tried the smallest of smiles in her lips, her dimples barely showing, the reassuring expression never reaching the chocolate in her eyes "I can't stop dreaming about them, remembering them." Joly agreed again, shutting his eyes for a moment in grief "Their smiles, their voices, everything is in my head every time I close my eyes." And she breathed slowly, pausing every word and sobbing low "I don't know if he would make it if he remembered them. If he remembered us…" she shook her head, hiding the face behind a hand "I'm sure he wouldn't bear the pain, Joly!"

The friend touched her knee, signalizing for her to continue "It's selfish, I _know_!" she practically cried, then murmured the last words that would come out intelligible of her mouth "It's for the best, though. There are things we just shouldn't talk about…" and, with that, the _Jondrette girl was _back again and the flat reply, the tone of voice, the life in the streets screaming at her to lock the weakness on the bottom of her core to survive, to make through the cold and the starvation and loneliness.

The loneliness that would never leave her again.

"Things like the past." She weighted her words as she got her red eyes back at the physician friend who had a deeply upset expression in his eyes, almost pitiful "Which he doesn't remember and won't be remembered through me." she arched an eyebrow "Will _you_ remember him?"

"If he ever asks me, I will." The tall young man said bluntly and Éponine nodded, understanding the loyalty those schoolboys had towards each other. Not even in these kinds of situation they would put aside their virtues.

People she would like to be when she was grown up.

She would never be, though. _People don't change._

"Éponine, don't _you_ see?" the gamine glanced at the friend who finished comforting her and stood up to run after his beloved mistress. Joly ran a hand through his auburn hair, attempting to straighten it, with the saddest smirk of empathy in his face "You're making up excuses to forget the inevitable."

"Child…" Éponine glanced up to see Beni by the settee with a tray of macaroons smelling deliciously and whetting her palate, even after the dismayed conversation with Morrice "You will end up hurting yourself." Éponine shrugged and reached her hand to the tray, not looking into the man's eye and not even batting her eyes.

"It wouldn't be the first time."

* * *

**I'm sorry about the grammar erros. The Word won't fix them properly and nor will the translator. u.u' Either way, hope I'll see you guys around. **

**Take care and see you later! **

**P.S.: Some reviews, please? :D**


	7. Letter

**_Notes:_ First of all, I'm so sorry for the late update! I'm having problems with my inspiration with this fic - the right chapter always comes like the last version and I can't make the time pass by slower. But I promise you guys I have written every day this fic and the problem really is it's never good enough at the right time to be updated. Also, I'm having classes and already many architecture projects to do every day, so I'm sure you'll understand.**

**Plus, no matter how long I take to update, I'll not abandon it! Let's just make this point very clear! I love this fic and I'll continue it to the end.**

**Now, ****THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE GREAT FEEDBACK! I LOVE EVERYONE WHO IS REVIEWING/ FAVORITING/ FOLLOWING THE FIC AND I'M SO HAPPY MY CAPS WON'T GO AWAY! :D **

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**Without further delay, Enjoy the chapter! :3**

* * *

**Letter**

* * *

The library became his preferred room in the whole household, the dark oak wooden tall shelves spread through the windowless walls along two ranks positioned in the center facing the doors to the hallway, every rack filled of books and the smell of paper scattering through the atmosphere along the velvet cushions of the seats and the silence – especially the silence – were pleasurable enough to fade with his problems from his lost mind paying attention solemnly to the written letters and marvelous words in every page his eyes would explore and absorb all the contains.

At the same time it calmed his mind, it also gave him an odd, yet pleasant, sensation. Of getting close to something he had known thoroughly, and, for a momentary lapse, he forgot. It definitely was bonded to his memories.

At least the act of reading wasn't yet paining his bullet injury behind his right ear – although his sitting position would sting his wounded collarbone and he would be forced to stop before it became unbearable.

All in all, he was enjoying the time spent in that activity.

After the lovely Opera singer departed to Paris not at the best of terms with either him or the feisty mademoiselle – due her flighty personality, she had soon forgotten of her trying to ignore and sulk at them during her farewell, which she threw her arms around both of the injured friends and shared some tears admitting she was already missing them. Then they both turned around when she kissed Joly fiercely and deeply, causing the ones around them to blush – Joly decided he would resume his medical studies, at least to distract his mind from the not yet replied letter from Monsieur Gillenormand and the absence of his Musichetta, and the hypochondriac gentle _ami_ would only meet him and the gamine during meals. Otherwise, he would lock himself in his quarters provided with amounts of books over anatomy and medical treatments.

Enjolras, in the past five days since discovering the library, wasn't bothering too much with the distance from his friend. If he was to be sincere with himself, he was glad he hadn't to glare at the clumsy and kind friend wondering how they first met and ended up becoming close friends – he was glad he wasn't recalled every single moment he had a piece of his life lost in the deep corners of his damaged brain. Although he had to admit, the sensation would regard him of that for quite some times – and then it would be gone, exactly as it had suddenly come.

When it came to the young mademoiselle taking long strolls through the vast back garden of the _maison_, he didn't find in him the will to speak to her. For the time being, she hasn't yet come to him and he knew she wouldn't do it any sooner. Somehow, he couldn't help himself to forget her darting eyes at her reply on the thoughts of him.

Joly had a point. They had _been_ close in the past Enjolras wasn't aware. Why would she not tell him about it? Be honest as she claims she is?

Then, again, he would oust the thoughts of her from his mind while he read his book filled of long words of beautiful meanings.

Or at least he told himself that when he caught his deep blue eyes wandering to the glassy tall windows and peering at the dark frame sliding from gantry to gantry, trying to perceive a bird or a cat, touching the water from the fountains and lying on the green grass.

_Law_

_Law_ was the most interesting and worthy subject for him at the moment – and he intended to continue this way for the time being.

The norms belonging to each article compounding every law, ranging from ordinary deeds to complex issues, the Latin dominating every line, the delight of knowledge over rights to all people over all they deserve to have and not to have.

He decided he adored law. Without it, how to survive?

_"I don't think _survive_ is the right term, mon ami."_ Enjolras shut his eyes forcefully; the voices back at his head never making logic.

He had heard some voices, familiar, youthful tones, usually male, contradicting him over some of his stubborn thoughts or pointing out his weaknesses. Voices claiming for a bright future of equality and freedom, vibrating for the day it would finally come, living every moment as the last, as the tomorrow was far way from them. The farthest place they would ever get to.

_Survive…_

What was wrong with survive? Why was it not the accurate term to relate to anything? He demanded reasons from those voices – he never quite did it out loud, concerned over his sanity – as they were mocking his seriousness regarding his virtues, his beliefs. There were times he found himself sullen over what he heard.

How voices out of nowhere caused such effects on him?

And he was back to the sensation of getting to his past through the books, finding his way through the darkness of his mind seeking for his past.

There was a part of him desperate to remember everything, to be able to associate, to know the people his friends and the entire France were talking about and the National Guard was in an iron grasp, struggling to find the remaining revolutionary; to have the flame of revolution burning inside of him, to feel what was lacking.

And there was the part of him coward and in denial, believing he would never remember the chaos, the suffering, the guilt that would rise on his chest as soon as he had recovered every single moment forgotten, every bullet shot, every canon blast, every breath taken and every life wasted.

Enjolras shook his head, sulking under the curls falling over his eyes and running a hand to put them back in place, deeply annoyed over his hair. He was regarding seriously the idea of cutting them off, tired of the gesture taking most of his time and the summer made the curls heavy and damp over the heat – it would be practical if he would just have a hair cut.

And in the short conflicting time, Enjolras heard the serene footsteps approaching the quietness of the library, echoing in the pastel painted walls and claiming the attention of the law student – he was certain he had to be studying it for the reason of being extremely familiar to most of the Latin terms and most of the subjects he had ran his eyes over.

His glass blue eyes glanced over the book sighting the dark brown pair of shiny shoes and beige pants, the way they were positioned gave away the visitor and Enjolras understood it as a very important deed due Monsieur Beni not exactly being frequent in that side of the house during working hours – since the blonde young man was exceedingly punctual over meals, the butler kept his presence to absent minds which belonged mostly to his young master and, then, the mysterious young mademoiselle stroking in the garden or staying on her quarters.

He closed the book and straightened his back before greeting the older man – feeling another sting in his wounded collarbone and pursuing his lips for some moments – and facing the distraught expression on his wrinkled countenance. At that the blonde man couldn't help frown.

Enjolras stood up, sighing inaudibly, and gazed into Beni's wise orbs "Talk to me, _Monsieur Beni_."

The butler brought one of his gloved hands from the knot in his back and stretched it to Enjolras, a letter of cream and smooth paper and sealed in scarlet wax under the label of a fetching handwriting of the letter G. The younger man felt his brows furrowing deeper as he rotated the mail in his hands, thinking what he would do with it, there was nothing to recognize the consigner, except for the letter in the seal which didn't give up much to help the law student.

His eyes darted back to Beni, asking the mail in his hands. The old man simply sighed, shutting his eyes and allowing the concern draw over his stress "_Monsieur_, I believe this letter is the one you, Morrice and Éponine were expecting." There was a glint in Beni's eyes that wouldn't allow Enjolras to push aside the curiosity over the contents of the letter.

If the letter _was_ from _Monsieur Gillenormand_, it could answer many unsolved questions ringing in the head of the former leader of the revolutionary group and his hypochondriac friend due the week the grandfather of Marius Pontmercy took to reply their urgent letter which did bother the group of outlaw friends, forcing the three fugitives to presume every kind of absurd issues coming over to them all – what would they do if Beni wasn't around to put some sense in their imaginative and dangerous mind?

Enjolras hasn't decided rather he glared at the letter or at Beni's face "Joly sent the letter. He should open it." Beni nodded and let his face glare downwards, Enjolras wondering the gesture.

"I assume he should, yes. However, I don't think Morrice to be ready for the answer in it." And Enjolras understood the reason Beni had come to him the way he did.

Monsieur Beni regarded Morrice Joly as a son of his own, Enjolras could see the care and the affection in those stern eyes when the clumsy medical student was around, the nostalgic ghost of a smirk in his crinkled face whenever his young master was immature, somewhat, or to the antics the tall young man would put in use rather often, the relief sighs the butler would let out of his quiet mouth every time they would comment over previous moments and some transitions of the barricade, clearly grateful for his dear boy to coming back home alive.

Enjolras could understand the reasons Beni wanted to spare Joly's sanity over what the letter might carry, over the negative answers and over the grieving feeling all over again – the blonde young man was certain it hadn't even started to leave.

Even though Enjolras didn't want to decline the letter and tell Beni Joly had to open it before, at least, he didn't find in him the will of reading the answers either. He was curious, yes, but he couldn't do it by himself, especially under his brain damage and lost memories. It was inappropriate, he felt he wasn't part of it and he would be intruding someone else's life for doing so.

He couldn't do it.

And, yet, the eyes of the honest butler, showing his weakness and trying to spare the friend he had sent to face death a week ago. How was he supposed to say no under that guilt in his chest?

Enjolras grasped the letter and kept it in his trousers pocket, not comfortable with his choice in the end, though he wasn't planning on returning it to Beni. The butler sighed heavily, his eyes light and thankful when were back gazing the stern, conflicting indigo eyes in the younger man's face.

"_Merci beaucoup, Monsieur_ Enjolras." Beni bowed his head.

"Monsieur." That was all Enjolras could say before the man left the library, his footsteps much lighter than before answering the thoughts going over in his golden head.

Enjolras couldn't let Joly read the letter if it was something awful in the end – but he would have to answer it anyhow.

What would he do?

_"You're damned, mon ami."_ The young man could almost feel a pat in his back, trying to reassure him – a pat that came from no one because Enjolras was once again alone in the quiet library.

But there were his faceless ghosts always talking to him.

Yes. He was damned.

* * *

The entire evening wore off as his thoughts wouldn't leave the paper wrap heaving his steps, the figurative weight of what it carried was corroding his shell of nonchalance over his current life, post revolution, which he had no right to be living.

The assumptions were bothering him, worrying him. He had a commitment with Beni, it wasn't necessary the promise requirement from the butler – he knew the kind of man the young former revolutionary leader was and Beni knew that once Enjolras had taken the letter from his hand, not replying to his confession over his affections towards Joly or complaining about it either, he would not give it to the kind hearted lad – not before knowing the contents, at least, and if not the desired answer, he wouldn't even mention the letter.

It was against his virtues to open a letter sent to one that wasn't him, to invade the private of the unknown to him, and there was the fact he knew nothing of what Joly had written to Monsieur Gillenormand as he announced Marius Pontmercy body's disappearance – Enjolras was certain the medical student didn't affirm the death of his grandson, although it was the most probable situation to happen.

The others had been buried by Musichetta's friends in distinct graveyards due the moments and the risk after the barricade – people could be misunderstood as the support and rebellious group to the dead children of the revolution and taken imprisoned for the assault against the government.

It would be a deed close to a miracle if this Pontmercy lad was to be alive as Joly and Éponine, himself also, were. He hasn't remembered how he escaped the barricade; he had remembered nothing of it after the blurred memory in his first nightmare and the confusion, the blankness and the darkness, the tragedy in it.

How he did survive indeed?

And when he started to develop thoughts over his unsolved past, his head would throb painfully in the wounded spot behind his ear and he would be forced to do it sometime later because his body wasn't ready yet for the great flow of information to return his conscious side.

He was so useless it was disgusting.

His principles wouldn't let him open the letter and read it, he was certain he would even be able to break the scarlet wax seal on it to begin with. It was irritating and stupid, foolishness even, but he couldn't open it. It bothered him.

And he was left with only one option if he didn't want to get his hands dirty over such trivial matter (he could even affirm it was trivial. He was desperate to get over with the letter issue), in which was already in motion due his awkwardness and disturbed self over his lack of capability of opening someone else's letter.

It sounded more ridiculous than he could manage…

The night had fallen and supper would soon be ready, giving him twenty minutes to search for the one person who could help him and to read the contents in the letter – and he couldn't help the frown drawing over his stern, bothered face over the idea of talking to someone who had insulted him in the most horrid way one could and would – before heading to the dinning room and confronting the butler with his young master, sitting in the table and awaiting for news.

It couldn't possibly end up well.

He could expect the offense from anyone, except _her_, for judging one from the way he was raised or the manners he appeased – there was this something screaming inside his head making him believe she was the last person on Earth to judge someone by their background, that's where he based his offended self for the moment.

She was his only source in the issue, though, and he would have to go for her, trust her to not let him down at the moment. It was about Marius Pontmercy, he was certain she would have her share of curiosity in the matter that would give him enough to deliver during the night meal.

He wasn't much better after sorting that out and he found nothing in him to think it opposite to remember Éponine of the one she once loved – he wasn't sure what were the reasons behind his sudden annoyance over the problem, yet, there he was sulking and pretending not to bother.

He had no right to bother. He had forgotten her, hadn't he?

_No. _That was what she kept telling him and herself.

The truth was he had recalled her, the feisty young woman, barging in the meetings of revolutionary students and pointing out their mistakes and their excuses of disliking the world how it was, trying to change it and using the miserable people as the main excuse to overthrow the king and have their beloved republic, their beautiful, unrealistic ideals revealing in her mouth sounding foolish and unachievable. The storm behind the hazel eyes and the brown glint, the expression of irritability, the anger drawing out of her and touching every soul unaware of the life she had.

He remembered her and he had some compromising memories of her. He just couldn't fill her up of hopes when he wasn't confident over what he had recovered of his past – he is lost and he doesn't understand the reasons he should start remembering his life through her, due him already knowing his student friends before he had known her and had yet to remember every single one of them to get to her.

He had some theories of how his memory was coming back to him, or the memories involving her, at least. Maybe it was her presence, her being alive and giving him hints to the girl she was before he had forgotten her – not that she had changed much, he doesn't believed that. He believed she had become sorrowful as Joly had become, as he should also be if he was conscious of the revolution; but not changed. If there was anyone else alive, _anyone_, he might just remember the blurry rest of his past.

That was what he believed. And he was certain there was no one else but the kind physician and the saddened mademoiselle lying on her back over the dark green small meadow, her head under a pillow of straw and a feline over her torso, purring as she ran her bony hands lazily through the tabby fur, caressing the spot behind between its neck and ear. Her bare feet crossed as her toes danced playfully to a melody she was humming along the cat, the blue dress, which didn't belong to her, was filled of fallen grass spread as a pattern over the fabric and her free arm was tucked under her back in a position Enjolras was very certain to be uncomfortable – though her restful expression give nothing away but her guard completely down in the presence of nature.

Her stormy eyes were closed and the mass of her hair had lint of chaff tugged in the tangled dark locks, resembling the Éponine from his sudden flashbacks and the dream he couldn't regard as one – dreams were usually desires belonging to the subconscious which were tricky and nothing close to real. He couldn't judge his relationship with the mademoiselle over it – he was fond of logic and facts. Dreams weren't supposed to bother him this much.

He recalled he was still not talking to her because she hadn't apologized, and something inside of him warned him she wouldn't which only aggravated his annoyance, but he had no one else to ask, nowhere to go to. He wouldn't beg, though. He wouldn't even say a word – he had planned the meeting already.

He would merely extend the letter to her and let Éponine have her way – she would talk about it, no matter what it turned out to be.

If she wouldn't take the letter, he would just retrieve the mail and go back to the house, searching for Joly and breaking his promise with Beni. His head was aching awfully and he wasn't in the mood to worry about it anymore – he had officially landed it in the hands of faith and he did not know the reasons of this letter being causing such dramatic twist of his day.

He just wanted to read the codes, the law books and stay in the library.

Was it much to ask?

"What is it?" the raspy voice brought him out of his delusional world, her eyes were yet closed and he really wondered how she knew he was there. He was sure he came as quietly as a shadow to her.

However, there was the past of her he forgot in which she used to be a shadow and she knew her way around. She was never, as he stated previously, unguarded. He supposed, after all his conversations with the small mademoiselle, he was no threat to her.

She had worst.

He supposed he took a long time to reply her, or so, because she grumbled and shifted under the cat, unfolding her feet and propping herself up in a sitting position with the bony arm under her body. The cat ran away and she grimaced, finally opening her hazel eyes and glaring at the speechless _bourgeois_, in his polished manly stance, wondering over her odd ways.

Éponine arched an eyebrow, her inquiring expression forcing her to speak up once again.

"Are you staring at me all night long or do you have anything important to say?"

Before he rolled his deep blue orbs, he felt his eyebrows furrowing at the harsh tone in her voice. She could be a bit less arrogant at least for the moment, while she was still wrong for judging him.

"Monsieur, are you listening?" he frowned remembering their argument once again and stretching the hand grasping the letter from behind his back to her face and he saw the chocolate brown eyes widening at the cream paper and the scarlet seal, her face going from exasperation to astonishment.

She jumped on her feet and rattled the blue skirt forcing the grass to fall from the dress and clean it up some way, she shook her head and some of the straw fell from the brown locks, though not enough. She didn't seem to mind as she ran her hand through the wavy hair and pulled it off her face, not caring as it pointed every direction around her face, almost an amusing view if Enjolras wasn't as distressed as before.

She gasped at the sight and her hands motioned to grab the letter from the marble handsome man's, but she stopped before she touched his. Her eyes darted from the paper and her face became stern and uneasy, Enjolras could see as she gulped and forced her body to not just start reading the letter.

"Is this-"

"I believe this letter comes from _Monsieur _Gillenormand, although the consigner is not known." He gestured to the scarlet seal and explained to her, her head nodding ever slightly as she retrieved her hands, an inquisitive glint in her eyes.

"Why are you showing me this?" she wondered and Enjolras felt uneasy "Monsieur Joly was the one to write and send the letter. I don't know what he sent to Marius' grandpa." Her voice was low and the blonde young man could sort out the hurt in them "Why do _you_ have it?" now there was an intimating in her voice, demanding answer and Enjolras decided to reply all of them at once, at least.

"Monsieur Beni requested of me to read it before Joly would." It was unnecessary the glint in his indigo eyes though Éponine had already understand the meanings behind the favor Beni asked "And I can't read it."

Éponine narrowed her eyes, arching one brow and glaring them at Enjolras "Why?" her eyes darting between the blue orbs and the cream paper.

Enjolras tried to shrug, but there was no slightness in his motion "I do not see how I could read the contents of this letter while I have not recovered my memories." He was incredibly uncomfortable of talking about that to her, but he needed her help and she wouldn't attend him without this trading. At least, he had some grounding before adding "Also, it's inappropriate to read the letter designed to one that's not me."

At that Éponine rolled her eyes and frowned, grasping the letter from his hands and glaring at him, her face almost outraged at his mannerisms.

"There are many things that are inappropriate, Monsieur." She started before ripping the seal and opening the letter, a small and dramatic ceremony "It doesn't make them less right than your virtues." Enjolras would have spared a moment to think through her philosophic sentence, yet, his mind was concentrated on the sight of Éponine bringing the letter to her face and running her eyes carefully through every word written in the page.

She would stop for a some seconds over a letter, squeezing the hazel orbs and arching an eyebrow to the meaning and Enjolras would threaten to take the letter away, then she would continue her reading, as she came down the lines her eyes widened and the eyelashes clashed while she blinked quickly. He could swear he saw her reading the letter over again at least three times before glancing back at him, batting her eyes and a stunned expression.

Enjolras furrowed his brows at her lack of words.

"Mademoiselle?" he wondered his voice harsh due his hard feelings towards the young Éponine who hasn't asked for forgiveness yet "What does it say?" he wanted to shook her back to Earth, but he found it inappropriate.

He was deeply considering putting on work her philosophy but he stopped when her lips curved upwardly highlighting her deep dimples next the hollows of her cheeks, a tear falling away from the corner of her dark brown eyes before he had the time of noticing it forming, followed by many others. Her smile spread over her face and she glanced all over Enjolras, landing over in his indigo eyes as she threw her arms in the air and fold them behind Enjolras neck, pulling him down in her buzzing hug while she laughed and screamed, paining his wounded collarbone and forcing him to hiss.

He was extremely shocked to return the embrace as he could feel his mind going blank with her smell, her face in the crook between his neck and his good shoulder, suddenly his red waistcoat had a fabric too thin and her heat was penetrating his skin while she moved her lips in his skin vibrating and talking about something in the letter that made her this happy – the first time he had ever seen her so happy and so relieved – making all the blood go to his face and burn his cheeks, paralyzing his senses for a few moments and awakening the nostalgic, pleasant sensation of having this scrawny mademoiselle in his arms, leading him to a forgotten land he was never certain whether he wanted to recognize or not.

Having Éponine as close as she was to him at the moment, invading his space and numbing his senses, he had no choice. His mind was drifting away again and there was no throbbing in the injury behind his ear, encouraging him to step in that land.

He forced himself to stay where she was, to touch her elbows and place himself in reality for the moment, he had yet to know the reason of her joy even if he had a hint over the one making her smile this much – and thinking of that pained his head as he established himself in the present world – and he couldn't recall another moment with this mysterious woman before remembering his friends.

He had to know his full past before knowing Éponine. He had to.

Shutting his eyes to the pain and forcing his mind to work correctly, feeling the olive, softening skin of her bony elbows much smaller than the size of his own hands, he decided he would ask what she was so happy about.

He didn't have though. His ears weren't deaf anymore.

"He's alive!" and she pulled away from him, her face slightly flushed ad her relieved grin exhibit her yellowed teeth in the lamp light of the garden, her dimples digging her cheeks, her eyes glinting full of hope and filled of tears "Marius is alive, _Enjolras_!"

Enjolras felt his eyes widening briefly, the news shocking him for actually being different from what he and Beni expected, though he had already knew them from the time Éponine started to hop and showed this much affection towards him – or she was merely extremely happy and couldn't contain the joy just to herself.

Only he had to know how this Marius had survived. If Enjolras was to be honest, Pontmercy wasn't exactly the lad who would deal alright through hardships of life and the student must have had the hand of God in it to maintain his life – he hadn't known how Joly and Éponine managed to get themselves along the marble leader unconscious away from the battlefield, though he had known it was a misadventure they definitely wouldn't want to face for a second time – and Joly had told him the boy couldn't get out of _Rue de La Chanvrevrie_ alone due his unconsciousness.

Very curious indeed…

Enjolras took the letter from the bony fingers in a gentle way and Éponine waited not as patiently as he did when she was reading for the law student to know all about Marius being alive – although he had read the letter faster than she had.

.

_June 12, 1832 _

_Monsieur Joly,_

_I am being greatly honest when I say I am grateful to hear you have survived the dreadful event and I am glad you were not alone to make through it, although I must admit it was horrid the role of our government on it and I am extremely disappointed to all the lost brilliant lives of the students fighting over the barricade. _

_I warned my grandson about the consequences, I did and I would do it again no matter if you, young lads seeking for a brighter future, would listen to me or not. I would rather you to pay attention to what I have to say for only once – at least there would not be bloodshed of innocent lives. I know danger when I see it and I wish the younger would spare some time to listen to what the elder have to say, it is not always foolishness as you may see now the results. _

_I do not, however, intend on paining you more, lad. I am, indeed, glad to know you are alive and you have my condolences over the death of your friends. I believe all of you meant no harm and were merely trying to make a change as any one at your age would have wanted to do. There is a mistake the young always commit and it is of thinking they will be eternal and invincible. I believe you realized it does not work this way._

_I only ask of you to not repeat it, for the sake of an old man and a concerned grandfather who has known the pain of losing my children and I can relate to those who have lost their sons in the revolution of yours. If you and your living friends mind for the sanity of your beloved ones, do not repeat anything similar to that. I beg of you._

_Fortunately, thank God must I add, I have at least one answer that will relieve you and your friends. My dearest grandson, Marius, has survived the revolution and is recovering from his wounds safe and sound at home which are healing quickly and he will be back at his full health less than a month. I hope you are doing as fine as my grandson._

_I do not believe it is my place to portrait how he had survived and I must say I have not understand how either. It was a miracle; it is all I can tell. I can assure you, though, that the four of you are being pursued by the National Guard since Inspector Javert's body was found floating in the west side of the Seine. No one knows what happened to him, though I am certain the police are associating the missing students to be involved – I believe you have no idea of the happening since Paris had been so shaken by the revolution of yours even the daily gossips were put aside. At that I congratulate you._

_I must warn you to be careful when you return to Paris. You are being sought and it will be dangerous to wander around. Of course you would be welcome in my household due your respect and care for Marius as you wrote me a sincere letter affirming me your concerns over his missing body and were honest to his whereabouts. You may come anytime you want, but I believe it to be better when you are all healed and alright to travel. He will tell you his adventures before he came to us and I am certain you have some conversation to catch up._

_I wish you the best and I pray to God to keep all of you safe, and I hope we will be able to meet as soon as you all get better. Remember you are the most welcome to my home and Marius would be beaming to meet you once again. _

_Sincerely,_

_Fréderic Gillenormand _

.

"He's alive!" Éponine shouted again, throwing her arms in the air and beaming, not crying anymore.

Enjolras glared at her, relaxing his brows and grimacing at her excitement.

"We have to tell Monsieur Joly!" she continued running back to the house and making Enjolras follow her with long strides, a bit annoyed over the letter. It could have had more to say, couldn't it? Or at least tell them when they found Pontmercy since the student has been gone since the barricade for the past two weeks.

Though Éponine fuss wouldn't let Enjolras concentrate over the letter. She was beaming and hopping and whirling around herself as she danced her way towards the marble balcony and almost tripping on her bare toes. Enjolras complained about her excitement when she hissed in pain as she threw her arms in the air and affected her wound in her shoulder.

"_Stop it_!"

At least she did stop, but she turned around with a hand on her shoulder as it would lessen the pain and a frown over her currently joyful face. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her mouth was gapping slightly, she grimaced a little while massaging the hurting spot.

"What?" she demanded and Enjolras snorted, folding the letter in his hand and straightening his back. He was scowling.

"Can you not see you will hurt yourself?! You might even have to suture again your wounds!" Éponine narrowed her eyes and neared her distance to the blonde young man, her free arm on her hips forcing her to wince again.

She didn't lower her arm, though "_Pardon_, _Monsieur_, but I don't really care about myself right now!" she admitted shouting, indignantly "You can't possibly be serious!" she scoffed and threw her free hand in the air, not as fast as she would over the pain "Your friend has survived and you're seriously scolding me for being happy?!" Enjolras felt his face darkening over her words, though she didn't stop "I don't care if Morrice will need to suture my shoulder again! I don't care if it'll hurt and I won't be able to move for a couple of days! I couldn't care less about myself!" she laughed mirthlessly "I can't believe in you, right now! Marius is alive and you aren't even close to being glad about it!"

He clenched his fists and groaned "I am glad he is alive; I'm not glad you will not care about yourself because he is alive as though you are less important than him." It was a hiss and Éponine arched an eyebrow.

"I _am_ less important than him, Monsieur." She stated as a matter of fact, her tone of voice low and dark, her eyes glaring deeply at the indigo orbs "You might have lost your memories, but it's clear enough even for a blind to see that I'm nothing to care about." Enjolras shook his head and Éponine turned around to continue her mission "You shouldn't care about me that much also." A suggestive inclination and Enjolras gritted his teeth.

"You're not being fair." Enjolras sent her a bitter glance, almost as a warning, that she replied shrugging her good shoulder and entering the house.

"_Life_ isn't fair."

* * *

Enjolras took his time getting to the dinning hall, trying to cool down after what Éponine had told him – he knew it would end up badly as always. The issue wasn't the fact they had argued, Enjolras was getting used to that already, but his inability of proving the scrawny wounded mademoiselle that she was important and she should care about herself, there were people who cared about herself – her voice gave away she already believed in her own words of her presence in the world.

And every time he attempted to tell her otherwise, she would appeal to his weakness, his lack of knowledge of his own life and the disarray of his mind. She was merciless when she talked about his memories as though he had no intention of recovering them. She was almost cruel and her eyes were somber and raw while she spoke of them, hurting herself and not

He should loathe her for this. Yet, he couldn't find the will in him to do so.

So he realized he had made a mistake when he walked inside the dinning hall, facing the his couple of friends already talking.

Joly was holding Éponine by the shoulders, her smile reaching her eyes as she told him about the news and the kind friend had his eyes widening, not quite believing the words living her mouth. However, when the green eyes met the relief tears and the true glint in the brown gaze he gave in, sharing his own shed of tears and bringing the scrawny mademoiselle closer to a hug, yelling some grateful words to God and trying not to hurt her as he swirled them in a hug.

They were both laughing and Enjolras was felling terrible for not being able to sight the relief in knowing another friend of his past self has survived the revolution he had started. The brightness lightening the tall friend's face was similar to the light in the face of Éponine some moments ago when she had read the letter and Enjolras was certain he would have felt the same if he remembered who Marius Pontmercy truly was; if he had his memories in him.

He was the one being unfair to Éponine, even though it was grueling to admit, and he felt terrible about that.

Beni spotted the blonde young man standing in the doorway, conflicting if he should barge in the affectionate moments of the friends or if he should just let the letter over the table by the door and go to his quarters. He didn't feel hungry anymore and he was suddenly self-conscious of his acts before.

"You read the letter, then." Monsieur Beni came to Enjolras and stopped next to him, signalizing for the bourgeois to join the joyful living revolutionary in the dinner already served on the table.

"I have to admit mademoiselle Éponine read it first." The blue eyes were almost ashamed as he glanced at the butler wearing a soft expression in his wrinkled face.

Beni smiled "I thought so, monsieur. I beg your pardon if it was an issue for you to read Morrice's mail." He apologized bowing slightly.

Enjolras shook his head, trying to lighten his mood "I apologize for not being able to open it."

"It is nothing to apologize for. There were good news, correct?" Enjolras nodded, but his face became stern and Beni paused his sentence before motioning to the center of the hall, bringing the younger man along.

"There were good news and warnings." Beni frowned and Enjolras continued "We are being sought by the National Guard and we might be accused of killing Inspector Javert." At the statement, Joly turned brusquely to their directions, stopping with Éponine in his arms, her feet away from the ground, and his joyful face turning to something extremely stunned.

"What?!" he place the young lady in the ground as Beni and Enjolras finally caught up with the duo and continued their conversations, Éponine wasn't looking in Enjolras' handsome face, though.

"Here." he gave the letter to the medical student and allowed the young man to read it "His body was found sometime after the revolution in the west side of the Seine and they presume we had done that to him after escaping the barricade."

Éponine grimaced and scoffed, putting her hands in her hips and turning away from the gentlemen "Of course we would kill L'Inspectour right after we barely escaped that hell hole!" Joly nodded to her snarky statement, glaring shocked at his butler and his friend.

"We were severely injured, at least the both of you and Marius!" Joly was almost in despair "We barely made it to the hospital!" the clumsiness in his voice inquired Éponine's comment.

"They don't care, Morrice!" she barked his name in sarcasm, outraged "We planned in overthrowing the king, anyway! We're enemies of the crowd and they will do anything to get to us." She turned around and muttered something not meat for them to hear, though Enjolras listened to every word "They caught me when they wanted to…"

"However, you are safe here." Monsieur Beni stated clearly and all eyes were on him, Joly was in distress, Éponine was wary, and Enjolras was pensive "And Monsieur Pontmercy is safe also. You don't have to worry for now."

Joly decided to listen to his butler and Éponine, although wearing a concerned frown, took her seat at the table ad waited for the other gentlemen to do so. Even though Enjolras did sat at the long table along his friends, his mind wasn't there and he was worried about the time when they wouldn't be safe from the National Guard, thinking of a future that might be not as far as Monsieur Beni or Monsieur Gillenormand imagine it to be.

And he was the one to blame if his friends were in danger now.

How could he not worry?

* * *

_"Aren't you worried?" the street accent familiar to his ears warned him he wasn't in the beautiful and fancy dinning hall anymore, his mind travelling to moments long before the actual time he should be._

_This time he wanted to know the answer for his questions. _

_Or the answer to the question this petit, scrawny mademoiselle asked to him, her eyes dark and somber over his vision of a better future to all. Around her the loud room enlightened by candles spread over small round tables and filled of blurred faces, but hers and two more – the tall clumsy and smiling medical student on a table at the corner of the room upstairs this store, talking to a blurry someone Enjolras might knew; and the freckled brunette sitting near the window, his green eyes gazing outside the balcony and his lips on a dreamy, small grin giving away his romantic thoughts of some mademoiselle Enjolras couldn't care less to remember the name at the time._

_Éponine was still facing him with an indignant and judging stare, her slender arms folded over her chest and putting her walls around her once again, guarding her from anything that might harm her or not – even words. She was thinner, if possible, from the mademoiselle living with him and Joly in the present and there was bitterness all over her scrawny frame, consequences of her dreadful life. _

_"About?" he said and the mademoiselle furrowed her brows at his question she clearly thought unnecessary – which was necessary for him because she suddenly brought up the question and he had no clue what she asked about._

_She rolled her eyes impatiently and demanded an answer to her question "About the revolution! The aftermath!" she shouted for him to understand and he nodded his face peacefully earnest._

_"My only concerns are about Patria, mademoiselle." The words flew out of his mouth smoothly, the confidence written over his marble shell "And I believe she will change for the better after the revolution." _

_"That's all?" she wondered, an odd and inquisitive glint in her eyes. Enjolras arched an eyebrow and she grimaced "Aren't you worried about yourself after all?! What will happen to you!" She whirled her finger, motioning for all the faces in the room, and Enjolras understood what she was asking them._

_If he knew what would happen to his friends after the revolution._

_He didn't smile, though he was frivolous when he put his hands in his trousers' pockets and relaxed his shoulders, accepting the future he wouldn't be inserted, nor would his dear friends._

_Although he was certain he would just frighten the gamine if he answered her he didn't bother dying for his ideals to stand. She had to know the truth if she wanted to join the cause, nevertheless._

_"Honestly, I would not mind being here when the future is a better place." And it took less than a moment for Éponine's large brown eyes to wide in utter shock to the realization. _

_She scowled and stared infuriated at him "How dare you, monsieur, say you wouldn't mind dying for a future you wouldn't see?!" she learned fast, Enjolras could say that much, though there wasn't her place for being insulted over that. _

_He was dying for people like her to have a better future. Was it something bad?_

_He furrowed his brows, the frivolous replaced by the curiosity over her last statement "I just accepted that I will not be a part of it." He answered dryly and she groaned, clenching her fists "Mademoiselle, I'm not more important than the citizens of France. I do not care if I die fighting the revolution that will change their lives." He admits and she narrows her eyes, extremely annoyed by his track of thoughts "I was not expecting it to displease you this much." _

_She scoffed, folding her arms over her chest and standing on her toes trying to be taller than him – which she didn't manage, of course "What did you expect to displease me, monsieur?! You all are going to fight to death to a lost cause and you don't care!" He arched a brow and she continued, outraged "But I tell you, monsieur," she poked his chest with her finger and it was hard, though he didn't move an inch from his place as she kept spilling out her opinions – she was particularly fond of talking her mind, oblivious to what the others would think of her "You're only going to hurt those people who care about you when you die and this future of yours will never happen! Why bother, then?!" _

_Enjolras quirked up the corners of his lips at her, then, making her flush frustrated as he let the most close to a small smirk take over his serious countenance and he answered her, almost lightheartedly "Because I have yet to change the minds like yours." _

_ She let her face go downwards afterwards and there were some familiar voices calling the marble leader to talk about the revolution to them, or their trivialities. However, before Enjolras greeted the gamine and left, she solemnly mutter a reply to his most confident answer that lead him to several internal conflicts he had decided previously how he would deal with them._

_"You don't have to die to change my mind." And his world was a bit closer to a complicated end._

* * *

**_Notes:_ Needless to say I'm dreadfully sorry about the grammar errors. I'm trying to deal with Word, but it won't tell me where I have to put the right words where. But I do hope you could understand the chapter!**

**Reviews, please? :)**

**See you, my beloved favorite readers! **


	8. Bounds

**_Notes:_ A shout out for _Smiles1998_ who has reviewed every single chapter and, hence, has supported me over the time being! Thank you so much for being adorable and always making my days with your opinions over my fic! :D**

**Thanks for reviewing/ following/ favoriting that this fic is having and I have to apologize for the long time I took to update it - I promise I tried to do it sooner, but I'm trying to do my best and I won't let you guys read a shitty chapter! So bear with my slow mind - it will take some time, but it will be a good chapter (and long, for the record!)!**

**I plan in not take such a long time - no! I won't take more than a week anymore to update it, unless, of course, I really have no time to push my mind to the limits - and beyond - of imagination to build the new chapters! :3**

**Okay. I'll let you guys read the chapters now, which I poorly call "Torturing Enjolras" - for reasons. **

**Enjoy! :F**

* * *

**Bounds**

* * *

The dinner went by awkwardly, especially as Enjolras became the aim of Éponine's daggers under her reprehensive stare, the narrowed stormy irises and her sharp brow arching as she tried to read him and the reason he had for deviating his azure eyes from her, trying to focus them elsewhere than the face he had just reminded a bit more and had knew a bit more of what bounded them – and the worst was the fact he had a clue she knew he had recovered something, though Éponine needed to know some more before spilling out her opinions.

The most awkward was Enjolras knew she could read him like an open book and he would be infuriated over it if only he wasn't as appalled and embarrassed as he was during the meal.

His face was practically on fire and his stomach was chilling, leaving him to have a conversation with his almost untouched food, retorting with Éponine's angered gaze and comment over wasting food – he would mention her example from days ago, yet he stopped because he was still mad at her (he answered her as polished as he could that he wasn't feeling well to eat. She knew it was a lie, but she merely shrugged her sharp good shoulder, digging her spoon on the soup and deflecting her observant gaze to the plate "_As you please_" and the conversation died there). He was practically in distress over his uncontrolled self and his betraying body – could it stop heating and chilling at the same time? It was incredibly bewildering!

Then he was glad when Monsieur Beni and some handmaids came in to take away the dishes, signalizing the end of the meal and the fact Enjolras could go back to his solitude at the library, escaping from the staring Éponine sent him and the pensive Joly reading the letter several times during the meal, completely absent of what was going on between his couple of friends.

The tall friend walked towards the balcony, mumbling something about the letter unintelligible for the others and Enjolras sensed he should hear what the brunette had to say, though Éponine stopped his motion of following the hypochondriac half way to the glass window, her hands in her hips, her lips pursued and her eyes narrowed enough allowing him merely to see her chocolate orbs.

Trying to escape, he glared over his shoulder to meet the observant eyes of Beni. However, they were alone and the blonde young man sighed heavily, noting to himself that she would wait until they were alone when she would come to speak her mind. Along his note, he prepared himself mentally to whatever she would have to say – he had the acknowledgement he would not be prepared for anything she'd have to tell him, yet, he could at least try.

"_Mademoiselle_." He spoke through his nose, deep and slowly, his head throbbing slightly.

He saw her jaw tightening as she lifted her head a bit more, her impetuous expression covering her face once more "You _could_ pretend being happy for Marius being alive." Her nostrils were flared and her eyes exasperated.

Enjolras felt his blood boiling inside of him along her never even temper. She was asking him to lie after rubbing painfully at his face the fault of his famous, faceless friends were dead due his beautiful words and promises of a better world?! She demanded him to lie now because Pontmercy was alive and the joy should overtake his soul with the news?! Well, he was glad another friend of his was alive, yet it wasn't the same happiness she felt because he had recovered very little about him – and all the memories he had of the freckled brunette had the feisty lady in it, causing a turmoil inside his head and misleading from his main goal of getting to know his own life again.

She couldn't be serious.

Even through all the bemusing thoughts taking over his head, Enjolras managed to wear his nonchalant face and arch his golden brow to her request "I thought you told me not to lie." His voice slightly aggravated.

She scoffed and shook her head "It's convenient not to lie now, isn't it?" and he furrowed his eyebrows, she used a hand to express herself better "You could pretend at least for Joly's sake!" She hissed for the tall brunette not to hear them, though he was extremely focused on the letter to care "It would be better for him not to know his friend doesn't care for Marius being alive!"

Enjolras gapped his nostrils, clenching his fists "Will you decide what you truly want of me?!" she widened her eyes under her frowned thin eyebrows at his question, the smallest of gasps to express her bewilderment and there was a glint of red on her prominent cheekbones.

She waved her astonishment away before he could manage any thoughts over it and narrowed her stormy eyes, folding tightly her bandaged arms over the blue dress "What do you mean?"

It was time for Enjolras to scoff, irritated enough to roll his azure eyes at her sly attempt of confusing his mind and to force him to drop the subject. Not this time; no, he wouldn't.

"First of all, you tell me my _beautiful words_ were lies and they lead our friends to their death, leaving me to believe you do _not_ want to hear lies anymore!" she moved her mouth to interrupt him, yet he didn't let her speak. He was talking and she asked him to be clear about his mind. So now she would listen to him "You bash me for those lies you are exceedingly opposite as they were the worst someone could ever tell and when I attempt at apologizing – _again_ –, attempt to understand what you truly think of me, I learn you think I am no greater than what I apparent being!" he paused to catch his breath, feeling the lump in his head aching and she uses this to speak.

"You didn't stay to hear what I had to say!" she defended herself pointing her wrapped bony finger at his nose, her eyes heavy in anger, and he resisted the urge to slap her hand off his face.

"Indeed, I did not!" and he rebounded his speech as if she had said naught "And, now, you tell me to lie and dare to use Joly as an excuse of your disappointment at me!" she snorted and he continued needing not to be allowed "You know well enough he has naught to do with it and you should start being honest to yourself!" he spoke in aggravation, she had averted her eyes from him at some point during his outburst and now glared murderously at the floor below them. He panted heavily a couple time before talking again, this time not as uptight "I am glad _Marius_ is alive, I am relieved we found him, I know I should have acted like Joly when you told me he had survived, only I _can't_!" she gazed at him again, her eyes blending fury and frustration – or was that a hint of sadness? "I can't feel this joy you feel because I am lost!" she blinked a few times at his confession, her brown orbs widening astonished as the golden curled head went downwards, glaring the azure irises at the floor and focusing on the granite patterns as the throbbing got worst by the time passing "I'm lost…" he murmured to himself, the words sinking in his soul as his breath steadied itself "I do not know what to do."

Enjolras swallowed thickly and shut forcefully his eyes, cursing the pain and placing his one hand behind his right ear, his fingers feeling the lump pumping underneath the thin bandage and he decided it would be better to stop now. He would probably pass out on pain at any given moment and he definitely had more useful – and harmless to his pride – deeds to handle than bear with this one right now.

He passed the same hand through his hair and straightened his stance, breathing deeply through his nose as he placed his eyes elsewhere but Éponine's face he spotted Joly signalizing for him to come talk to him – for both of them, for the matter, though Enjolras nodded and stepped aside to proceed on his walk.

"Come, Joly is calling." He muttered to Éponine as he passed by her small and dark frame, recollecting himself although he was very certain Joly had heard their argument from the balcony.

He got to the door and glanced over his shoulder unaware of her silent footsteps already close to him and he waited for her to pass in front of him as the gentleman he was and closing his eyes not to see her stormy gaze once again after his confession. He had to control himself while talking to Joly and the expression covering his usual kind and coy face was now ponderous and startled.

"We have an issue." He mumbled cleaning his glasses quickly in the sleeve of his coat and placing the letter at Éponine's small, bony hands. She furrowed her eyebrows at him and he continued hectically "Inspector Javert was _already_ dead when we fought at the barricade!" Enjolras felt the throbbing worsening and the medical student glared concerned and unnerved at him – he heard their fight and he knew it had done no good to the blonde young man "How was his body floating on the Seine?!"

Enjolras shook his head, he had not remembered the pieces of the barricade as clearly as he wished he would have known – all was a blur of brown dusk and bright red, deafening roars from the canons and the cries, despair and pain blended and staining this moment for the rest of his life. That was all he had recovered from the barricade.

"Did you recall it mademoiselle?" Joly asked frantically at Éponine and she blinked a few times, rubbing her forehead with her batter hand and grimacing.

"No." she groaned placing the hand on her tiny waist "I've probably passed out already." She ran her hand through her wavy hair and closed her eyes to the memories of the barricade, trying to put it aside.

Needless to say it was in vain and the voice she heard troubled her at the moment, the concerned and giddy, faltering voice of the drunkard of owner of the greenest eyes and the darkest curled hair. He gulped and he was being dragged towards the second store of the Café – his lips moving and the sound just not reaching her ears at the same time.

"_Save him._" And that was the last time she talked to Grantaire.

"_Gavroche_ unmasked him and we threw him inside the Café until the monsieur wearing the National Guard uniform volunteered to kill him. _Combeferre_ saw him shooting the bastard!" Joly glared at Enjolras and was about to tell him something, though he stopped looking at Éponine wincing at the mention of the names. Joly himself had lost the shine of his green eyes as he remembered the boys of the barricade.

Enjolras had winced once he heard the names, though he said not about it. They had an issue and the pain in his head only slowed his recollection of thoughts. He had to focus in one issue at a time.

"Are you certain?" Joly glared at Enjolras, impatiently.

"I didn't see, but you did and you said so!" the blonde handsome man resisted the urge to grimace at his friend and Joly continued what he was talking "Well, the man couldn't end up practically across the city being dead! Even if his body had travelled the sewers he would never had gotten to the Seine as quickly as it did! He was alive after the barricade!"

Éponine frowned and glared at the both men before her, drawing their attention as she rubbed her chin with her good hand and thought deeply at the subject.

"What?" Enjolras asked the same time Joly blurted the "Spill it out!"

"The man… Was he very old?" Joly nodded "And very strong?" Joly nodded fiercely.

"He carried two boys at the same time!" the brunette was in awe as he recorded "And his hair was almost completely white."

"I know this man." And her memories of her difficult past were back to her, Enjolras clenching his fists to control the anxiousness of knowing the past – even if it wasn't his own, he might have something in it (anything was better than naught) "My father hates him to his bones." Her eyes didn't blink as she mentioned the old scum _Thérnadier_ was and she continued her storytelling "When I was a little girl, my family owned an inn at _Mount-Sur-Meil_ and my parents took care of this little girl whose mom had bee left by her husband and left her with us to work because people wouldn't hire a single woman with a child." Enjolras felt sick at this point, unnerved at how people could be conceited and blind at all the absurd going on the world – a woman was left to raise a child on her own by some bum and people slammed their doors at her face as she had impregnated herself on her own! An awful world indeed "Dearest father begun to extort the woman, telling her the little girl was always ill and they needed money to buy the physician and the medicines – all lies." She shook her hair, laughing mirthlessly at herself "The girl was never ill and my father used the money to other purposes, as to buy nice clothes to me and my family, to invest in the inn and lend money to others. The little girl wore rags and she never wore shoes, not even to get water from the wheel at the woods in the cold winter night." Éponine jointed her hands behind her back and let her head fall downwards "The man came one night, told _mama_ and _papa_ the woman had died and he had came to pick up the little girl as a promise to her mother.

"_Papa_ wouldn't let her go until the man opened his wallet and gave him a thousand and five hundred francs, buying the little girl and going away." She looked elsewhere but the gentlemen "When he learned the man was rich and he should've extorted him some more, it was already late and it all went wrong." she shrugged her good shoulder and went to the balcony fence, trying to grip the stone "Ten years later this philanthropist showed up at _Place Saint Michel_ along a girl who wasn't little anymore, nor did she wore rags and bare feet, but a beautiful green dress and a dark bonnet." It was getting to personal and Éponine shook her body, focusing on the important part "_Papa_ tries to strike him and ends up realizing it was the man who took the little girl away and, as he tries to get the man again, he ran away and I die at the barricade." She finishes roughly and both young men glare bewildered at her.

"Yet you did not." Enjolras speaks and Joly supports him, though Éponine turn around abruptly, blank eyes sinking in dry tears as she bites her next words.

"I _died_ for my family and it will continue this way!" she demands staring daggers at both students, straightening her posture and cleaning her throat before continuing "The man," she goes back to the subject as if nothing had ever happened "His name is _Jean Valjean_ and I know where he is."

"_How_?" Joly rubs his face and Enjolras massages his temples attempting to release the pain, in vain.

She rolled her eyes "It _doesn't_ matter! I know how where to find him and whenever you want to go back to Paris, we will search for him." _Not that it will be very hard_; Cosette is probably aware of Marius being alive and is already with him, closer to him than Éponine would ever be.

"Do you think he betrayed us?!" Joly asked Éponine gasping and covering his mouth, frowned frightened of her answer and Enjolras merely his movements to the wander of his indigo orbs from the tall student to the tiny brunette.

She took some seconds to answer, analyzing her possibilities and she shook her head, finally ending the thrilling sensation building inside the schoolboys "Don't think so. He had always kept his world, whoever he talked to, at any given time." She remembered him telling her to stay away from the streets the barricade night because of the danger – she wasn't sorry she didn't stay away. No. She was sorry she didn't die along her little brother and her dear friends.

"How do you know?!" Joly wondered bluntly and Éponine scoffed, shrugging slightly.

"You learn who you can trust when you have a life like mine, _monsieur_." She deadpanned with a grin on her lips which didn't quite reach her eyes.

Enjolras groaned in pain, trying to focus on the conversation, though the lump on his head was disabling the control over the ruckus inside his recalcitrant mind which wouldn't stop attempting on recollecting the thoughts over the nights over the barricade. He was practically hearing the faceless ghosts at the moment and he couldn't manage the emotional twirl to take over him – not now, at least.

Joly's big and soft hand grabbed his good shoulder and steadied the former leader, firm and careful as he approached to check on his wounds. Éponine instantly had her eyes back at Enjolras, though she was less infuriated and exceedingly concerned.

Sometimes it happened.

"We have to take a look at this." The tall friend's voice was rather reprehensive and his green eyes were narrowed at the blonde handsome man "You're striving yourself, Enjolras. Stop being stubborn and rest." Enjolras attempted on rolling his eyes, but the pain restrained his movements to a loud growl "Will it be necessary for me to tie you into your bed?! For the love of God!"

"Today was an eventful day. That's all." Enjolras muttered and Joly rolled his eyes, ordering the young man to go straight to his quarters.

"I'm the medical student here, Monsieur, and you're going to rest even if I have to place Beni next to you for the next days!" Enjolras decided not to argue the friend.

"Do you need help?" Éponine wondered as Joly dragged the handsome friend back into the house and the physician shook his head, narrowing his eyes at her in a scolding way.

"Not at all. I need you also to rest and I would like you both to stop fighting while you're recovering!" he scoffed as he saw Beni approaching to help him take Enjolras back to his quarters "Of course if it's not much to ask." She rolled her eyes at the scathingly comment and stormed out of the room, leaving the letter over the table as she did so.

"Get better." She muttered to Enjolras as passing by him and he glared perplexed at her ability of having such incoherent temper – she was obviously obnoxious at him and she still could care to worry?

Enjolras wasn't very sure if he was the insane or if it was Éponine's state of mind.

* * *

_"I'm lost…"_ his voice echoed inside her head as she fastened her silent feet through the hallways towards her room, her heart drumming unsteadily inside her chest and sending waves of desperation thoroughly her body, her knees quivering and threatening to give in at any moment, her injured hand covering her mouth as her face kept contorting, the past opening a hole to swallow her whole.

_"I do not know what to do."_ Her eyes watering and blurring her vision, his voice reigning over the many others, the pushed aside memories wrecking her walls to the ground and bursting emanating from every deep corner of her head, every corner she was trying desperately to keep under control.

She just wanted it to stop because she couldn't bear the pain, the emptiness in her life, the loneliness yelling at her and scolding her for being stupid, for being fool enough to believe she could never be lonely again.

And there she was, embracing the feeling as she had done once, before _Les Amis de L'Abaissé_, before having the best time of her life, before she had the opportunity to become someone better to the world, before the barricade, before Marius – the somberness, the sore life she once had, the painless loneliness she lived before being truly happy and not lonely at all.

_You're a fool! A fool!_ She told herself as she slammed the door of her room with all her strength, not being able of leaning out of the wood and letting the sobs crawl through her throat and leave her lips painfully, she was panting and her eyes were tightly shut as the tears continued to flow _You made a fool out of yourself when you believed you could change the world, you wouldn't be miserable anymore! _Her legs gave in to her featherweight and she bumped to the ground, back to the wall and her hair falling over her face – her torso ached through the small cuts spread through it, but she couldn't find in her the will of stopping the pain. She deserved the pain, the physical pain, the reality proof she wasn't on dreaming, she wasn't having a long and horrible nightmare after all she had been through.

Of course life would be merciless with her – she had never deserved good things.

She only wanted to be on a nightmare, she only wanted to wake up at any moment and see that they were all alive, that she had fallen asleep over one table at the _Corinthe_ after sinking her misery in wine along Grantaire and Jehan, that she would see Courfreyac carring Gavroche on his shoulders and laughing soundly at anything her little, cheeky brother had to say because he was clever and he knew his way around even at his young age; that she would sit straight on the chair and spot Bossuet accidentally breaking Feuilly's fan for some reason and trying to apologize, though the fanmaker would just except his excuse if the bald man would pay for the damage; that she would hear Combeferre and Joly discussing new medical methods and treatments for every single illness bothering the Occident, which would lead them to arguing and Joly would have to drink his syrup due his sick fear of diseases. That Bahorel would laugh at her sleepy face and bring her a cup of coffee for her hangover, saying she looked lovely and she should get inebriated more times – it usually ended up at her cursing him until his fifth generation and he would leave guffawing.

And there would be Marius talking passionately about his beloved Cosette and everyone on the Corinthe, except Courfreyac and Jehan, would roll their eyes over his love confessions and try to change the subject all the time.

And then she would glance at Enjolras, gazing pensively off the window, his handsome, stern face disappointed at society, his ideals neglecting his privileged life and contradicting his family status – he had ditched the aristocratic life and was leaner and paler than the first time she had saw him, even though he was still handsome and he was still the same headstrong schoolboy from the time he asked her to teach him at being poor.

He would notice her gazing sullenly at him and would turn to lock his azure orbs in her dark ones, flushing her dirty face and forcing her to face elsewhere – he would continue to glare at her as he tried to understand the reasons she had to stare at him. And he would tell her things as changing her mind while giving up his life and he had to change the world for her and for her brother – didn't he notice how compromising those things were?

And she would find herself not as interested and miserable in Marius loving Cosette as she should be – she forget the pain she felt when he mentioned her and she wouldn't mind anymore for him to go meet her at night, even if she did get worried at his well-being after all. Instead, there was another puzzling her mind and taking her breath away with things she shouldn't take personally, things he told all the other people as she.

_"I won't forget you…"_ and he was in pain, in her arms and falling apart – she shouldn't have think he would remember her, of course not. She was the biggest fool and the worst kind because she fooled herself, she knew she would end up hurt bad and she still gave up it all in the benefit of others.

She muffled her cry biting her good hand, her face sore at her endless crying and her head pounding painfully as she tried to conceal the pain and the guilty at the same time – at that came Gavroche's small and smiling face, his crooked and yellow teeth, his bright green eyes and unruly, filthy blonde hair, his little frame and raggedy clothes, his cleverness and the trust he laid over the schoolboys who welcomed him to the group as their own little brother and Éponine was certain all of them cried their eyes out as Gavroche fell at the other side of the barricade.

She had done nothing to stop it and she still blamed Enjolras for letting her little brother die, she bashed him because he forgot all of them and she was just the monster her father taught her to become some day – the monster who would rather put the guilty over somebody else's broad shoulders than face reality, than accept the inevitable, than facing she was as guilty as he was for letting Gavroche being there and she was the one to fault over the death of the others also.

She should have continued to warn all of them, she should've bothered them, scared them, and threatened them to stop sticking their fine noses at others' businesses, to appreciate their bourgeois status and live their own lives – mostly, live. All she could truly ask of them all.

She should've done something, anything to make those schoolboys they were ruining their lives – and they didn't deserve to die like that, disappointed at the world they were fighting for, let down at the people who slammed their doors on their faces as they tried to run away from the National Guards, as they tried to live.

And she lived now, she was lonelier than she had ever been and she was being awfully rude and terrible with Enjolras because he started the revolution, because he believed it would lead into something and nothing changed at all.

Now Marius was alive, yes, and he was healing and he had magically escaped the barricade and she wanted so much to see him, to hug him and know what the barricade had done to him, how was him and if he would ever be the Marius he once was and she once loved – Joly had changed from the joyful boy he used to be and Enjolras had forgot who he was what made him so special. Now, Éponine, she hasn't changed at all – she wore someone else's clothes, she ate better and she had a roof over her head, but she was the same gamine unbounded to the others, blending in the darkness as any shadow would and tormenting one as lost as Enjolras as an excuse for her own flaws. She survived, she didn't live, she was soulless before the barricade and life tricked her, fooled her as it presented her to the perks of letting her walls down for others to bring light into her miserable, lonely existence.

As soon as it had her used to happiness, to having someone to care and being cared, used to the bright boys of the _Sorbonne_ and their kind hearts, it ripped off her life at one painful and slow strike, though not all was completely lost – Joly was alive and they found Enjolras' unconscious near the pile of furniture, miraculously not yet found by the National Guard as he was practically consumed in the river of blood washing the cobblestones. And one day later he had forgotten the revolution, the friends of the ABC, the meetings and the rallies, his own past life, he had forgotten Gavroche and the _Café Musain_, and she wasn't the privileged he had remember.

No, he had forgotten her as well and she had treated him extremely and unnecessarily rude, slapping his face with the painful past that tortured her and Joly, the one he should remember until she decided she wouldn't talk about it to him anymore because he was the one who started it all, he had no intentions of living after the barricade had arisen, he would gladly die for her to change her mind – he would die to remember the hell they passed through those nights and she didn't want him to die.

No. She would never forgive herself if he died after all the lives, the sacrifices of Les Amis that couldn't be in vain, for naught. He had a country to change before he died at the barricades and she had to support him as she once had.

However, how would he make count the deaths of her schoolboys if he had forgotten the reasons he started the revolution? How could France have a republic free of prejudice and perked with equality for all its citizens?

She was confused and hurt and all her wounds pained her, though the one that most troubled her was the one she couldn't ask for Joly to heal because it was beyond his abilities or the abilities of any given doctor for the matter – her broken heart, even after all the turmoil her life had become, even after the barricade and the hardships of her existence, even now she was living the best she had ever have, she could feel the darkness engulfing her and leading her mind insane as time slowly passed by, the suffering of the loneliness and the acknowledge that the death of her little brother had change naught and Enjolras losing his memories was in vain, for the Patria Les Amis worshipped so much would never exist and she knew not what their sacrifice was for.

Life was cruel, but Éponine never deserved the best of it – and all she wanted was to be back at the city she knew as the back of her hands and be lost forever in its shadows.

After all, she had saved Enjolras as Grantaire had asked of her. She just hoped to meet him and Gavroche sooner – after meeting Marius one last time.

* * *

Joly glared intently at the blonde young man lying his wet head over his many pillows, uncomfortable under the suspicious glint on the green eyes and focusing the most he could not to strive his mind at the possible thoughts reigning the clumsy head of the tall brunette sitting next to him.

Joly requested of Beni to bring a bucket with warm water so he could clean the wound at his head and some kind of balm to reduce the painful throbbing along the foul taste of the medicine he swallowed at once, staining his tongue and disgusting him at the sensation inside his mouth.

As soon as Beni left the room, Joly burst his questions at Enjolras, one at a time, his voice low and careful though that was a very agog hint behind his physician façade as he pulled off his glasses and folded his large arms over his chest.

"What was the subject of argument this time?" the marble young man shut his eyes as he felt his brows furrowing slightly in pain, breathing deeply through his nose and concentrating his emotions not to outburst on the caringly friend beside him.

"My lack of joy at Pontmercy being alive." Enjolras tried to be ironical, though it sounded much more solemn, leaving Joly to glare discontented.

"Were you disappointed at knowing he is alive?" the brunette arched one thick brow violently and Enjolras shook his head, sighing heavily.

"Of course I am glad he is alive!" Enjolras exclaimed supporting his point and the physician relaxed his shoulders along his face.

"So why did you argue again?" he was disgruntled and Enjolras dimly, the bright flame behind his eyes dancing weakly, practically fading.

"Because I am lost and I should not be." Joly sighed and rubbed the back of his head, hiding his face for brief moments "Because I should not even be here." Joly pitched the bridge of his long nose and grunted for Enjolras not to continue, but the marble man didn't stop once he started his speech "I remembered a conversation I had with Éponine," at that the green eyes shot up stunned and inquiringly, expecting something to please whatever thoughts Joly was having "And I had nothing planned for the afterwards of the barricade, I had no expectations for me being alive after winning the revolution." Joly jointed his hands, gazing wearily at his friend "Joly, I wanted to die out there." At the realization of this conversation, the physician interrupted.

"My friend, we had nothing planned for the next day ever." He tried to lighten up the subject, lighten up the weight over his shoulders though Enjolras didn't let him.

"It's not true, my friend." Joly tried to stand for his statement, but the leader interfered "Be honest with me, Joly. I beg of you." And the brunette stopped babbling to pay attention at what the melancholic lad had to say "You had Musichetta and you left her to fight the revolution. What did you tell her the last time you have seen her?" The brunette flushed over his own private, compromising at the least, memories as he examined the tricky question from the extremely intelligent _ami_.

Joly sighed giving up and telling what happened after all "I told her we would be together after we had won the revolution." And he had his lengthy face glaring downwards as Enjolras closed his dark eyes.

"You planned on joining her after the revolution." He tried to continue, but Joly stepped up again.

"I only said that to keep her from crying!" he defended.

"Joly, you wanted it to be true as much as she." And the medical student pursued his lips, glaring his sorrowful orbs at the blonde man "I, my friend, had nothing for the afterwards. I had nothing planned, I made no promises of meeting anyone after it all and I definitely did not mean to survive it."

"Only you did!" Joly stated brusquely and it showed a mirthless ghost of a smirk in the lips of marble "And you must accept it!"'

"How am I supposed to accept this when I forgot why I am standing here?" a rueful expression covering his face and Joly could see the cracks on his friend, releasing him from the marble layer.

Joly just had one thought on his head at the sight – he didn't want Enjolras to crack now.

"Enjolras, you said it yourself! You had no plans in being here, but you're here!" Enjolras scowled slightly at the outburst of the physician as he tried to explain his point very frustrated "I'm here and Éponine is here and Marius is here also! Then you are saying we should be dead as well?!" at that Joly was just babbling and hoping for it to make any sense for the marble leader who glared awkwardly at the clumsy friend, who gestured wildly as he spoke "That's all I can understand of your suppositions at the moment!"

Enjolras frowned "I was talking solely about _me_, Joly." And there was a threatening tone to his voice, though Joly cared naught.

Enjolras was lying on his bed and would be sleeping at any given moment and Joly had to snap his friend back into reality, bring him some taste to his life and make him accept the events. The physician also wanted to be gathering with his friends, he also wanted to have died than to have dealt with their lifeless bodies spread and aligned inside the Café, seeing all single one of them with their open eyes because no National Guardsman had the decency of closing their eyes – not even little Gavroche had his eyes shut – or to cover their corpses with some sheets. He might have not desired to die before the barricades; however, fighting it and losing most of his dear friends changed his mind completely and he would rather have died than to deal with a broken marble man.

He accepted he didn't, though, and he wouldn't let his friend draw himself in self-pity and they still had to prove the people they were wrong for letting his friends die fighting for them, they had yet to make it count for every man – and they would.

"Then stop thinking solely about you!" he stated finally, rising from the armchair beside Enjolras bed and clenching his hands into fists as he ended the conversation "Stop saying nonsense and focus on getting better!" And it was the first time Enjolras saw a stern, cold glare at Joly's eyes "When you meet Marius again I'm sure everything we'll settle."

With a low _rest_ and _goodnight_, Joly marched outside Enjolras' room, leaving the wounded leader with his butler who was standing near the door.

Enjolras snorted, attempting to roll his eyes in an outraged expression, though the movement was limited due his headache. The butler sighed and walked towards the damaged young man, laying his soft, wise orbs in the handsome face of the lad and attempting on read what was on his mind.

However, Enjolras wasn't simple minded – his head was a complex universe, dark and in pieces.

"What do you want, my lad?" the butler wondered out loud and the dim azure orbs met his, embittered and somber.

"I want to know, Beni." He admitted and moved in bed, gazing intently at the old man's merciful face "Can you help me?"

The older man shook his head, facing downwards and biting down the pity "No."

Enjolras sighed and turned aside, slowly and wincing mild "I thought so."

"Do you need to know?" at that Enjolras stopped moving and glared back at the butler's agog and wise face. Was that a pun or not?

Enjolras had his eyebrows already furrowed and his golden curls displaying over his face, so it was more difficult to meet the face of Beni in the few candles' light spread at the necessary spots.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you _need_ to know? Or is it just a _whim_ to you?" Enjolras grimaced; exasperated at the turn that conversation was taking.

"_Monsieur_, I do not see your point on that question." He replied brusquely.

Although Beni stepped back, he didn't seem to be taken aback. He was rather polished standing and holding his jaw high.

"You do, _Monsieur_. You only do _not_ want to face it." And Enjolras narrowed his eyes, infuriated.

What did this old man know about him in the end?! What he was told, he supposed, not much. He had no right to accuse people out of naught! Even if he is right.

"Then, tell me, _Monsieur_, what reasons do I have to face it? And are they enough to bring back what I have lost?"

Beni shook his had, a scowl over his face and a reprehensive tone in his voice.

"Not all you've lost will be brought back to you, lad." Enjolras snorted, his nostrils slightly gapped "However, you had good enough reasons to face whatever demons are tormenting your head. _You're not alone_." And at that, Beni left the room, shutting the door and leaving a speechless young man at bed, facing the wall with wide blue eyes and distant gaze.

In reality, Enjolras wasn't at his room anymore, listening to the dull and aggravating truth from Beni of his fear of facing what he needed to face. Enjolras was far away, now, and he felt as if he would never return to the present days of his life – even if it had happened a couple of weeks before, it was still his past and the one he seldom remembered.

* * *

_The young man of dark curled hair stepped in his sight, sweat tricking down his face and into the dark, big eyes of the student – he didn't seem to be bothered by the heat though. He was panting and his clothes were filthy, and there was strong odor of blood, dusk and sweat. People yelled frantically at each other in the background although the lull before the storm. _

_It all stopped, however, when the brunette smaller than Enjolras and more extroverted the leader himself stopped at the middle of their side of the barricade, panic emanating on his usually skittish countenance. The silence was torturing and the waiting felt as hell._

_The brunette shook his head, taking in air before speaking loudly enough solely for the boys of the barricade to hear him "We are the only barricade left!" he announced in despair, glaring at Enjolras and swallowing as his brown, widened eyes wandered through every face staring at him._

_"It cannot be, _Courfreyac_!" another voice came from Enjolras' right side and the brunette stared frustrate at the lad, obeying by the sound of his own name. Courfreyac._

_Enjolras turned his head abruptly to the side, meeting the pale and widened green eyes, of dusky pale blonde hair and wearing clothes that used to be of pastel colors, now covered in mud and blood. _

_"It can be! It's happening, _Combeferre_!" Courfreyac contorted his face, glaring at the ground and putting his hands on his hips, breathing deeply as Combeferre panted, gazing his startled pale eyes at Enjolras, and pleading for him to say something anything at all._

_The leader rubbed his nose and turned around, his head facing forward, trying to focus on the blurred ghosts of his pasts, his friends, the revolutionary schoolboys, the ones that died for a greater cause and didn't deserve to end like they did._

_There was an older face there, Enjolras could see this one between the faceless ghosts, of gray hair, practically white, wearing the pantaloons of the National Guard, a bulky and tall man, of calm brown eyes and worn out countenance. Every soul at that battle was probably worn out, though this man in particular had a much exhausted face for only the moments of those days they fought the barricade._

_Enjolras turned to the barricade, a mess of blurred dark brown wood, furniture over furniture and a red flag hoisted still, no wind to motion it's glory, no breeze of the people who said were coming, no wind to take the fear away. _

_He whispered to himself, trying to believe in the own words of frustration and disappointment coming out of his mouth "_We're the only ones left._" He heard gasps from the boys of the barricade, murmurs and he turned back to meet them, not really seeing through the blur of their faces "The people have not stirred; we are abandoned by those who still live in fear." He swallowed, glaring down and running a hand through his hair "Let us not waste lives." He gestured to the beyond the barricade with his open, dirty hand and sighed heavily "All who wish to, go from here." And he turned around to go back inside the Café Musain, to glare at someone he thought was already dead, someone he thought he had lost forever, someone he wanted to change the mind before dying._

_And, yet, she had died before he had the chance to convince her._

_"Do you hear the people sing?!" a high pitched, child voice stopped him midway, turning him abruptly around to meet the little boy of unruly blonde locks, of devilish blue eyes and crooked, yellowed teeth in a sassy smirk as he started the anthem of their revolution, glaring straightly at Enjolras. _

_The little gamin, only twelve, wearing rags and the flower of revolution over the left side of his chest, bare feet and grime covering up his whole body, his infant face round and hollows beneath the cheekbones, deep circles around his eyes and the face of misery much similar to someone Enjolras had already lost._

_This little boy who had nothing believed in the revolution, believed fighting the barricade would bring him the rights he earned since his birth, the rights any child should have equally, the food lacking in his stomach and the childhood innocence that should glint behind his dim eyes through life. The little boy believed France would become a better place if he had the students to fight for it and he believed Enjolras could never stop believing in it as well._

_"Singing the song of angry men!" he continued, glaring intently at Enjolras and waiting for the leader to go back to his post "It's the music of a people who will not be slaves again!" And the marble young man found himself grinning slightly to the sight of the boy and the schoolboys singing together, gaining their forces back from their ideals and their virtues, gaining the forces to strive for a better world._

_The boy quickly climbed down the barricade, since he was sitting there by Joly, now Enjolras could see the physician brunette whipping some blood of his face with a handkerchief, and ran towards the blonde man of curled hair, halting in front of him and winking one of his blue orbs as he elbowed the leader in his side while walking to stand at his side, grinning broadly._

_"We ain't alone if we got everybody who cares with us!" the street accent and the spelling mistakes bearable and heartwarming, turning it easier to die alongside the little urchin._

_The little Gavroche._

* * *

His name was _Gavroche_ and he died at the barricade, along _Combeferre_ and _Courfreyac_ and the bunch of the other students also. Enjolras was to blame; Enjolras was the one who didn't continue to walk away from the barricade and allowing the others to not waste their lives.

Enjolras was guilty and he couldn't help the digging a hole inside his chest as he imagined how the little boy had died, what soulless bastard could shot a kid? Who would ever shot a child, _for the love of God_?!

Now all of them were dead and Enjolras was alive. He was alone. He was alone because the everybody they talked about had all died at the barricade. He was alone with his faceless ghosts and suffering more and more at how slowly his memories got back to him – he'd rather have died than feeling the way he felt.

He killed a boy who had a long life ahead of him.

"_Ya ain't alone, fearless leader!_" the high pitched voice called Enjolras from the dark of his room and the young man tried to see the little Gavroche there, tried to see his ghost. But he never showed up. Only his singsong, child tune and Enjolras felt his eyes burn behind the salty tears, contorting his face as the sleep approached his exhausted, aching and suffering self.

"_As long as ya got people who care for ya…_"

* * *

**_Notes:_ TELL ME, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT DID YOU THINK OF THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE I'M DYING TO KNOW THE TRUTH HERE!**

**So, I tried to connect some dots and I have to admit I have the attention spare of a five-year-old. I have to read my entire fic at least once a week to make sure I'm not letting blank spaces at the plot and just leaving it there like nothing - things will become clear, I promise! They are already!**

**I'm not as fond as I should be of Éponine's part of this chapter, but the next it will be very fun! I promise! :3**

**Take care darlings and see ya!**

**-Juliana**


	9. Guilt

**_Notes: _Still shouting out for Smiles1998 for being my baby girl that supports me so much and makes my days happier all the time! Thank you for being always here and enlightening my days! :3  
**

**Thank you for all the followers and all the favorites, all the reviews and everyone who is reading this fic somehow! I don't know you yet but I would love to answer to any question or any kind of interaction you might want to have with me - but if you only want to read my fic, I'll continue posting it anyways ;) Though it will take some more time to be updated than I previously attempted due my many projects at University and everything currently going on in my life right now ( I just became a member of AIESEC and if you are also let me now and we'll become friends and exchange leadership tips :] But I really had only began it - so bear with me! ).**

**So, for any doubts, I'm not abandoning the fic and I'm still here, so you can tell me what you think you like or what you don't like, what you think should happen or not, what you so much desire to happen until the end of the fic (but I have to say I don't know where it ends, so... :D)! Whenever you feel comfortable, review me! 3**

**Now, alerts of very dramatic themes and conversations. Some Joly in the beginning, but Enjolras' centered as always and, PLEASE, REVIEW! D:**

**Without further ado, Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

**Guilt**

* * *

Joly slowly opened the door to Enjolras room with a loud creak, some hour in the middle of the afternoon, extremely concerned with the blonde young monsieur and the injury in his head – the hypochondriac was still sore from the last night's quarrel, even if he wasn't one to bear a grudge, since the conversation was much inappropriate for such a time in which they were supposed to be hopping in joy with the news of Marius being alive and safe.

To be accurate, the fact that made the tall student melancholic was that Enjolras barely has a clue of what happened before he was at the hospital and already blames himself for the deaths of his friends, and Joly was being honest when he affirms _Les Amis_ knew they were risking their lives. When Enjolras finally recovers everything, he'll kill himself in guilty!

And Joly didn't want to bury another friend – this time, someone he _could_ save.

However, when his green eyes searched inside the dark room, scarcely lit by the reflection of the sunlight hitting the granite floor, he felt his chest tightened to the sight of the once blazing, burning leader of the _Abaissé_, as bright as the sun, sitting motionless in the middle of his bed, a shadow blending in the darkness and the worse sensation Joly had ever felt since they had moved to his winter house.

The blonde, marble man made the only noise for Joly to know he was alive, because the silence would be plain and deadly if Enjolras' breathing could not be regarded as a sound.

Joly stepped inside the room, ever so slightly not to startle him, though the young man wasn't sleeping. Oh, no. Joly could see the azure orbs even in the dark of the room, frosted and blank as digging holes between the patterns in the wall across his bed. It seemed as he was in a deep trance, his mind miles away from the dark chamber, his heart broke in pieces.

Joly heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair and shutting the door behind him as he made his strode to the Enjolras' bed in quick, mute feet, worried his friend could be in a trance and careful not to break it – he read in one of his mental health books that a person woke abruptly from a trance may suffer several brain damages and it's irreversible, in most of the cases.

In this case, whatever it might be, Joly would be certainly the most careful he could.

Enjolras didn't move since Joly stopped in front of him, feeling pity and desperate as the minutes passed by and the former leader of their revolutionary group hadn't blinked since the tall brunette had walked inside his room.

_Oh, mon ami…_ Joly thought, feeling his eyes watering as he was skittish, yet, with tied hands, to do something to his dear friend _I have to help you…_

"What am I doing?" the usually fierce and refulgent voice of the _marble man_ sounded so broken and so desperate that Joly almost thought he was standing in front of someone else's bed – almost.

Joly saw as the azure eyes continued still, close enough to notice the dark circles around them ad the red of crying staining the white around his intent irises. Enjolras was pale and was practically fading in the blackness surrounding him, engulfed by his demons.

_How to save someone damaged like this?_

And the time he gave Joly to answer was over when he blinked his eyes, adjusting their aim to the tall student's pitiful expression, worsening the situation. If Joly felt bad walking in the room, now, standing under the gaze of those confused and saddened eyes of his friends, made him tremble.

"What have I done to _you_?" and the medical student understand that Enjolras wasn't only referring to him, but the other boys.

Joly sighed and softened his eyes, walking around the bed and sitting on the armchair next to it, feeling the stare on his frame as he moved.

"It wasn't you, _mon ami_." Joly started, but Enjolras didn't let him continue, the lowest voice – it seemed calm and centered for anyone who didn't know the young man as well as Joly knew him, didn't know how exasperated he was when using this tone.

"_Please_, Joly." His head went downwards and Joly followed the course of his orbs, fixing the glare on the limp palms, just the shadow of the once marble skin covering his entire body "I might not have carried the weapon, but I was the one to take away their future." He closed the hands slowly, they trembled sorely, shaking the entire body of the broken lad and Joly swallowed his bleakness, knowing well his reassurance wouldn't mean much if his voice faltered. Though Enjolras continued to speak before he had made up his mind to say anything at all "And I can _barely_ remember them." His shoulders hunched forwards, hiding his face and his flickering voice, the sincerity of his words forming holes in Joly's chest to the mention of him actually recalling something of them. Enjolras turned his head towards the brunette sitting next to him, the azure orbs between the twitching eyelids and tears leaking from the corners shading darker the skin of his embittered face "How cruel was I, Joly? Be honest to me."

Joly resisted the urge to roll his eyes from the face of his friend, not that the question was as ridiculous as it seemed – Enjolras _could be_ terrible with the greatness of his heart, of his forward and wide mind, of his vision of he possessed of the world they lived in. But _never cruel_! Cruelty was what he fought against and there was not a single hint of it on him.

"Enjolras, you were never cruel!" Joly retorted a bit rampant and was replied with a shake head, the curls of his friend falling all over his face and shadowing them more "Stop torturing yourself on supposing things you never were!"

Enjolras glared intently at the green eyes of the auburn haired friend, his brows furrowed "But I was." Joly frowned, antagonizing the other man until the blonde finished the idealization of himself "I killed a little boy, Joly!" and Joly felt his face losing all the colors as the features of Gavroche came slowly to his mind, his throat knotting as he the laughter of the street urchin echoed inside his head, hanging around them and being actually recognized as an _Ami de L'Abaissé_. He felt his face contorting and his body itching to move, and he covered his mouth with his hand in a fist, shutting his eyes and trying to bite away the insistent tears threatening his attempt on being confident "I let _Gavroche_ stay and fight!" Joly felt his shoulders shaking as he held the sob back "And he died for _nothing_!" and there was rancor in the azure, blank eyes.

Joly shook his head, the tears already falling from his eyes "So you say all of us were cruel when we let Gavroche stay!" Enjolras scoffed facing the wall as if Joly had said the most ridiculous thing ever "And Gavroche wouldn't leave either way, Enjolras!" the blonde didn't turn to glare back at him, shaking his head and moving his eyes through the ornaments in the ceiling "He was independent and stubborn, he did as he pleased and he only listened to us when he thought made sense! He stayed because he wanted to stay and there was no one who could change his mind!" Enjolras hadn't move and Joly continued to speak, even though spotting the glinting tears staining his pale face "No one of _Les Amis_, not even _Courfreyac_…" Enjolras trembled listening to the name of the other student he had remembered, he had killed "Not even _you_, _fearless leader_, who he respected so much, changed his mind!" now the blonde glared at him murderously and Joly felt a bit remorseful for being a cynical, though it was the best time to force some sense into his damaged brain "He didn't even listen to _Éponine_, Enjolras!"

But what reasons did Gavroche have to listen to her, anyway? She obviously stayed because she wanted to, because she wanted to be with _Marius_, because, _oh well_, she had to take a bullet for him of course!

_Why would Gavroche ever listen to her?_ Enjolras thought shallowly, blind and boiling in anger of his own practically let it spill in Joly for his words of attempting in decreasing the severity of his faults, attempting to change his mind of his own past actions.

Enjolras was as absorbed in his degrading thoughts of himself that he lingered to notice the shadow frame in light colors standing at his doorway, not eavesdropping their conversation anymore because the door was wide open and the lavender hem of the dress' skirt already trailed in the granite belonging to his chambers, the size to big for her height as the long sleeves were baggy around her bony arms and the hems covered her bandages hands, the arms limp at her sides; a wide, purple strip detached from the dress securing the fabric around her narrow waist as it hanged loosely about the neckline showing some of her prominent collarbone and the bandage over her left shoulder under some of her mass of dark locks blending in the darkness inside his room.

He saw the movement in her throat as she swallowed thickly and her lips were pursued, the dimples in the corners never failing to appear, her nose leading to the hazel eyes and the stormy gaze they sent both of the students across the room, her lashes blinking away quiet tears as her brows furrowed in sorrow.

"_Éponine_" Joly blurted startled and Enjolras saw him standing up clumsily, his stance timid and cautious as if not to frighten her away, his face self-conscious of bringing her to the subject and his hands cleaning away the tears recklessly.

Her orbs stared quickly at him, steady and quick in a pace Enjolras would never be able to actually take in how one was, learn all to learn of one, but she seemed to have already understood the situation of him and what was going on inside his head. Her irises were focused in Enjolras face, now, the drops hanging in the tips of the lashes, her prominent cheeks already damp.

"_I_..." Joly started, cleaning his throat and glaring at Enjolras fumbling, abashed for mentioning her at that form. He coughed and glanced back at her, she was still at the doorway, waiting "I-I didn't know what t-to say!" Joly was clearly trembling, stuttering in fear of what her reaction to this would be.

Enjolras would never admit, though he was apprehensive what she might do next – she was, as a matter of fact, unpredictable.

Joly glared back at Enjolras as he worried about his safety and worried about his head injury as the thoughts of what _he_ would do next to ease the complex situation would be. The once marble man glared sorely back at him, his stance unsure of what to do also and how to react to Éponine lack of reactions – Joly was sure his brain cells were in a very messy, confused knot and he was very close of losing his sanity in the presence of these dreadful friends of his – and he thought to himself that _Courfreyac_ would try to soften the situation by telling some tasteless joke of his, which _Grantaire_ would join in laughter shamelessly, and that would make _Jehan_ reprehend them both in a dagger starring rage as _Bahorel_ left surreptitiously before anyone actually had the time of thinking about involving him; _Bossuet_ would also try to sneak out, but he was much unlucky for his own safety, being spotted to soon and dragged in the matter violently along _Marius_' inability of seeking a way out of it as he had always some plan to stalk _Monsieur LeBlanc_ and _Mademoiselle Noir_, later known as Cosette and her _dearest_ father; _Gavroche_ would be soon gone as he soon came through the door, or even the window in some hypotheses, making up his '_stuff to do_' and '_places to be_' as the same excuses that were plausible for all _Les Amis_ due his life.

And, as _Combeferre_ would suggest in times like these, when the tension was exceedingly and the silent unbearable, for everyone to leave and not steak their noses where they weren't called – they would know what happened in the end, anyways -, Joly decided to follow the advice of his late mate with a sigh, hunching his shoulders forwards and announcing his leaving with a low "I must take my leave."

_God_, he missed his friends so much _all the time_! If only the memories of them could be brought in halcyon days…

_I only pray for them to come sooner then the expected_, Joly thought as he passed by Éponine, who merely nodded to his choice of leaving them alone to talk, not blinking her stormy eyes at him as she stepped forward and let him close the door behind him.

_Please, God, don't let them kill each other! _He prayed as he spotted Beni in the end of the broad hallway, his face in a knowingly and guilty expression, giving away what he was doing there and letting Joly forget about his troubled friends inside the room for some moments

"You were listening to all of this and didn't come in to help me why?!" he hissed angrily, marching in a rush to his butler and making the old man merely rise his eyebrows in a sign he saw no nuisance in Morrice's outburst.

"It's not my place to speak." He replied simply, turning away to walk and Joly followed hot in his heels.

"It is, yes, when I'm in deep trouble and can't imagine what to do!" Beni stopped and glared slyly at him.

"You did well for one that couldn't imagine what to do." And Joly arched one eyebrow, inquiring a more detailed answer, receiving a shrug from the old man as he walked away "Don't worry, _Morrice_. You choose right to leave them alone."

Joly only hoped so.

* * *

Enjolras stood up, not comfortable sitting anymore – not that he ever were comfortable before. No. There was no such condition at the turmoil of sensations and thoughts running inside his head, he could feel his forehead burning as an answer to his strain of remembering, his fever hardening the clear thoughts that attempted in emerging – though they would be soon ran over as the raging guilty and exceedingly pain of the few memories he had of those ghosts with faces decimated any attempt of self forgiveness, self pity.

There was no self-pity in him today; there was no self-mercy anymore. Enjolras was well aware of the gravity of his actions, and it wasn't about the dictatorship present in their country, what it would bring him if he was discovered – he literally couldn't care less for what the army, the king, the world could do to him anymore; it was about, however, making the mind of his friends to join him in the revolution that would create a world which they would not have a part in building it – the only part they would have would be in attempting fighting for a better France to initiate and they wouldn't be even be recognized later as the ones to believe in their country as a working Republic.

He couldn't accept the fact he was the most self-centered person through the whole preparation of their revolution, how he never stopped to ever reason what his friends idealized of his ideal in never being present in the world they wanted to born?! How niggardly could he be when what he perceived as the right, the correct, remained untouchable and unalterable to the point the others' lives mattered not as much as his own ideal of justice?!

He killed all of his friends because of _his_ ideals – were they worth all of it _after all_?! Was it worth it after all?!

And the answer to this, even after cursing himself, after torturing himself with all the pain and suffering, with all the guilt he felt, the burden upon his shoulders, he didn't know, yet. There was a stronger force inside of him, a feeling he hadn't name yet – not for the lacking of words to call it, but for the lacking of acknowledgment – he did not know. It was too soon, too _fresh_ to judge, to commit to the reality of his currently life.

He wasn't sure what he expected to come out of it, though, if it would be worth their deaths.

Naught came to his mind that would be worth a death of a ten year old boy. _Naught_!

He postured wasn't straighten, his head practically the height of his shoulders and he wasn't sane enough to care about trivialities, about his lack of posture, of his weak and defeated stance. He couldn't careless to appearances at this point, at making appearance to attempt in conflicting to whatever Éponine would speak of him, whatever she would throw right in his face, whatever she would accuse him for – he would answer her, however, he would tell her whatever thoughts were dominating his mind at the moment and she wouldn't be spared just because she suffered before.

Enjolras was insane, he _felt_ insane – and, yet, he hadn't recalled half the important people he had forgotten.

_Damned... Degraded... Doomed…_

Couldn't be as fit as now.

He hadn't turned to see her, he could feel her stormy gaze at his features though – his eyes wandered the darkness freezing his room to the hot summer breeze outside. He was much absorbed in his self degradation to notice her small shadow sneaking to stand nearer to him, sideways making her visible and impossible of being ignored.

He slowly turned his head to truly face her, his countenance somber and impending her of coming forth or she would regret. However, as expected, she was unpredictable and there was nothing as threatening Enjolras could do that would send her away in frighten, in dismay as he wanted to – he only needed her to state what she indeed had to say about herself to him, to enlighten his doubts and be honest to herself in the end.

Albeit he had no clue of how to start a conversation from that exact moment

_Until…_

"Much full of _cracks_ to _please_ you?" he inquired sardonically, feeling the disdain of his words inflating his nostrils.

Éponine blinked, the tears not falling anymore even though he could yet spot the drops hanging in her damp lashes, her countenance intent and much serene for his momentary fondness. He knew, however, she wasn't as compose as she seemed to be.

"Have you any idea of what you're doing?"

As a matter of fact, he was astounded at her capacity of stunning him. He was astounded at the sound of her voice, the reminiscent tone of desperation adding the complex sensation she trespassed, as appeased and as bland as he had never heard her being in a lifetime – he was certain to his bones she had never spoken this way since they ever met, much before what he had forgotten.

He scoffed and narrowed his eyes to her, his brows furrowed and the curls on his way to stare daggers at her, this time his body was fully turned towards her.

"I beg your _pardon_?" he was being ironical and showing his exasperated confusion to her question.

Her brows knitted the slightest, her chin was held high even though she wasn't attempting on being arrogant. Nevertheless, he had no idea what she attempted on being at the moment.

"Do you know what you're doing?" she insisted stubbornly and he gritted his teeth.

"Apparently not, for your question has no alternative." He answered wryly, feeling his once limp hands turning into fists and the same nerve-wrecking expression over her face – his never-wrecking "Do you know what I'm doing?" she nodded in serenity and he felt his blood boiling at her secretive way. He listened to his fingers crackling in his palms at his restrained force, a throb a bit more acute than the last to his temper "Do _you_ care enough to tell me?!" he wondered cocking his head aside, attempting to send the blood elsewhere than the paining area at the right side of his brain.

"You're being many things at the moment." He arched an eyebrow at her and she continued, the same centered face antagonizing his brooding self "You're being an idiot, to begin with." His brows faltered to her answer, falling bored over his eyes "The greatest idiot you've ever been even after everything that happened at the barricade and before." He felt a vain pumping in his forehead as she brought the subject with an ease unmatched by him – though he spotted the not as easy issue as she hid her bandaged hands in the hems of the long sleeves, neglecting the fabric to her pain "You were many things, Enjolras," she started once more, her eyes narrowing slightly and her brows following the movement impetuously "But you were never egoist." He snorted, pitching the tip of his nose while rubbing it and rolling his eyes, gesturing how ridiculous she sounded. She didn't stop, though "You were a fool, you were naïve, you were unrealistic most of the times when you idealized the bright future your _beloved_ _Patria_ would have." She almost sounded resentful when mentioning the country he dedicated himself to "And you sacrificed yourself for a dream that _was_ yours, but you weren't a part of it." He motioned his head to the other way and she raised her voice for him to pay attention to her no matter what – a gesture that worked to his insane self "There was no moment in which you ever denied something yours for others because it could damage you. Always been the reverse." He gazed at her sideways, one of his hands in his hips as the other forced the nails to dig and bleed his palm "You always seemed fierce and fearless, Enjolras, like marble. Have you forgotten you're made of flesh and blood like anyone else?" he glared at her, narrowed his eyes in a murderous attempt of making her regret her words. There was no hint of guilty on her determined face that could give in to his desire "You're only human, you make mistakes, you can be fooled and you can fool anyone else!" he scoffed at that and stomped his feet once, fierce and loud at the floor as to stop her. He back straightening at her provocations, his stance coming back "You can crack, Enjolras! _You're broken_!" that statement hurt her and balanced her, giving Enjolras time enough to interrupt her speech.

"I cannot see what your business in my life is!" he replied cynically, gesturing to the wide and dark room with his once fisted, free hand "I do not see where you are involved in every word you have told me ever since you walked through that door." He replied, taking a step closer to her and noticing her trepidation under the inquiring tone he had just used as many other times. Her stormy eyes widening the slightest. He narrowed his eyes and stepped closer again, shrugging in disdain "What you earn in telling me all of this and making me believe in whatever you say?"

She stood a bit taller, straightening her shoulders to his threatening close "This isn't about me, you _know_ it!" she retorted and he arched a sardonic brow "I'm trying to take it easy at you outburst of information; I'm trying to help you!" he shrugged again and she narrowed her eyes, he could see the frown of rage rising up in her features "You really think I would stay quiet as you broke down while remembering _Les Amis_?!"

"I honestly have no idea of what to think of you, Éponine." She gasped and backed her neck a bit, bothered by his words "You change your mind like the tides along the breeze; you know _so much_ how to never get _attached_ that you're confused when there are many others involved." She listened attentively to what he had to say, her brown eyes never leaving his blank azure orbs "You hide behind your demons just as I do, but the difference between you and me lays in which you _have_ memories of the past I _forgot_!"

She shook her head, scoffing and letting her face go downwards at that, the mirthless laughter he felt odd not to have heard before as he also felt the remorseful for it to reach his ears at the moment – she couldn't puzzle him more.

Her face was drastically up once more, her eyes fixing an intent gaze into his "We all hide behind our demons." There was so much darkness in her words that she didn't have to say anything more for the matter. Éponine simply changed the subject "And I don't _have_ to earn anything in return for doing the right thing!" He narrowed his eyes to her, suspicious of what she meant "I'm not obliging you to believe in me, anyways." She shrugged, the mischievous characteristic of her own enlightening his raging mind and cleaning some of his shadowed sight over the recent events – just with a poorly thought and simple shrug she made "If you do believe in me, it was all on you."

Could he consider their conversation _real_? How could she swift the mood of the conversation as simple as this?

_What was she_, in the end?!

"So," she began once again, the mischievous of her voice leaving as it came, the sorrow and the nostalgia painfully coming out of her mouth as she let her head fall down a bit, her stormy eyes not tempestuous anymore and permitting the melancholy to take place, her brows following every feeling at the same fast pace they came and went in her face. Her shoulders seemed to relax and he would believe in that due the low and serene tone of her raspy voice, if only the atmosphere around them hadn't become mournful and Enjolras wasn't aware of the weight on Éponine's trembling shoulders "You remembered…"

He felt crestfallen to the mention of his memories, the ghosts and their voices around them hardening to breathe and to think clear, the throbbing in his head blurring some more of the few memories he had of the students he recalled so far – or were all the memories he recovered illusions of his damaged brain? Only dreams again?

He swallowed thickly as she moved towards the bed – she made no sound at all and he never knew how she managed being as silent all the time – and sat slowly at the matted of sheets, blankets and pillows, taking one of light green and golden seashells patterns over the white velvet fabric in her hands and gazing intently at it as she stroke her most damaged hand over it, almost curling up on it and half of the mass of her locks falling over her slender, square face of lips turned downwards and eyelids parted only for the darkest of her eyes, the brown practically blending in the shadows around them – Enjolras felt the unrecognizable desire of opening at least one of the curtains to enlighten her much somber features.

He didn't move though she took her seat, he merely stared, demanding of her to continue what she had heard, though she said no more than that. Her eyes wandered through the golden and green in her hands as her mind was far away from where they both stood. He sighed to her sudden absence of mind, or the intent she had in being quiet for letting him speak of what Enjolras had recalled, in the end.

He ran a hand through his curls, neglecting the golden locks as pushing his fingers through the knots and jerking some of them from his scalp – they were unruly and much think for his fondness at the moment and he thought to clear some of the cloud in his mind it was necessary to straighten some of his untamable hair; and he stepped closer to the bed, heaving another sigh as he supported his hands on his knees to take a seat next, not as close to, Éponine, his elbows over his knees and his hands jointed as he faced forwards and attempted on not glaring their entire conversation at the languishing mademoiselle.

"I have, as a matter of fact," he cut through the silence and he heard her breathing taking a little longer to continue "remembered some of Les Amis and some of what happened to the barricade." And he turned his face slightly at her, feeling her staring back at him "You were right when you said the people wouldn't come." She blinked, something coming to her eyes, almost awe, and going as it came, once more, as she shook her head and glared back at the pillow in her hands "I remembered some face and some names, some of _Les Amis_." He swallowed.

"Tell me." He frowned and she glanced back at him "Who have you remembered?"

"You know who I remembered." He retorted flatly, shallow to what she meant through she just asked "You heard me and Joly talking." She nodded slightly, stroking the fabric in her hands once more.

"I know." he arched an eyebrow to her, her eyes darting away from the pillow to his face almost pleading "But I want to hear it from you." He softened his brows, still puzzled to what she meant and she continued with a sigh leaving along her words "I need to hear from your mouth the names of those you remembered, the names of ours friends." She was so earnest, her saddened eyes as honest as Enjolras had never seen before. She pursued her lips and her eyes blinked a tear away again "I need you to speak of them like you did before, I need you to remember them and to remember _you_…" her lips trembled and she looked away again "I _need_ you to be you again…" she gasped audibly and cleaned her face with the back of one of her hands, gazing back at him and attempting on being tough "Will you talk to me, Enjolras?" she questioned half-heartedly, frenetic with her pleading brown orbs.

He was much tempted in telling her all he recalled – and he would be certain he would make her talk to him after all.

* * *

**_Notes:_ This is not as long, but is full of feels. Really full of feels! :P I hope you liked it and I hope to now you'll tell me what you think of it.  
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**Have to go now, but I'll be back as soon as I can! Love you all and leave me some of your love! :3**

**Take care and see ya!**

**Juliana**


	10. Despair

**_Notes: I'm soo very sorry! I didn't thought it would take so long, but me and college were in some sort of epic battle against time - the semester is almost over and my classes are over at November 30, so it will be more and more difficult to update! But I HAVE NOT ABANDONED THE FIC AND I'LL CONTINUE IT BECAUSE I LOVE THIS!_  
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**_And I have to thank all of you who are here, reviewing and following and favoriting and reading! I'm glad you all are here and I'll let you know I love all of you! _**

**_Don't forget me to tell what you think of the chapter. _**

**_Enjoy! :D_**

* * *

**Despair**

* * *

The murmurs polluting the audition, the fog of dust and powder thickening the air, the first lights of the dawn lighting the street stained in blood and brown and grey, the beige walls from the degraded buildings surrounding them, the fading wooden inscription hanging over the entrance of the _Café_ and the amass of furniture blocking the path to either edge of the dead-end lane. The flickering remaining flames of the many candles spread afar from the barricade and the young men joining their right side, waiting for the sultriness to be gone so the tempest could finally barge and take them away forever.

The attention to every small detail, from the color of the blurry sky of dawn to the piles of chairs and tables and chariots and stairs, of every single one of Enjolras' memories turned their conversation to a tale – a speech of sadness, still passionate and obliged for those few moments he had recalled.

Éponine could feel again, that same day, the moments she had not been a part of because she was supposed to be dead due her several, grave injuries for jumping in front of Marius and taking the bullet meant for him. She lived to see that day later, the troops invading the Café and pointing their arms to the owner of the Café and his family, the people who let her inside the back room when she ran from the pile of corpses of her fallen comrades. She lived to see the same fog and the same chaos spreading as wildfire, burning every hope and every dream of her dear, dead schoolboys.

She pushed the thoughts aside because Enjolras was speaking. With his azure eyes not as blank as before, gazing intently at the sunlight reflecting in the granite floor, his unruly golden hair seemed appropriate for the moment and his shoulders weren't hunched forward anymore, he seemed as his old self – the leader, the martyr, the hero.

Could he ever be himself again? She couldn't help wonder as her brown eyes would never leave his face.

"You were not there," she swallowed unpleased by the memory and his grim expression wasn't much better "We were gathering the muskets and talking, I do not know exactly what," Enjolras didn't appreciate knowing half of the information – he would rather know all of it or not at all than dealing with his not as correct prepositions. Somehow, this small fact made Éponine grin slightly to his struggle while he continued "Then _Courfreyac_ appears, in a rush, the most somber and desperate expression I had ever seen in his face." If only she hadn't known Enjolras remembered his friends, she _would_ be in shock. Though the most shocking fact was he _had_ recalled some small traits, maybe some moments he shared with the ones he recalled. He might have even recalled all of his time along those _amis_, but he wouldn't pour out his new information out of what he considered nothing or to someone as she – not because he didn't trust her or that they were all secret.

Because - as he said earlier - Enjolras has no idea of what to think of her.

Strangely as that was to her and her not as _comprehensive_ temper, she wasn't bothered by this. No. Somehow it made perfectly sense for him not to know what to think of her.

It would be the best later to say _goodbye_ than otherwise.

Thankfully, Éponine could never imagine this _Courfreyac_, the _Ami_ of lighthearted conversations, joyful and flirtatious young man, the one who managed to gather the other students and to appease their heated arguments, who made jokes in every situation, always so kind to her and her little brother – especially _Gavroche_, the patience and the care he had toward him was much envied and pleased by Éponine. It was very nice to see Gavroche, joining the schoolboys and actually learning things he would never had the chance to if he hadn't ran away from their parents' care.

It seemed as if they were brothers and Éponine enjoyed the idea of Gavroche aspiring to be like those young gentlemen – if only he had lived longer, he might had become one.

As for _Courfreyac_, neither did Éponine wanted to see his usually smirking face in despair. Not at all.

"And he warns us we are the only barricade left." She glanced intently at him, trying to read his expression, but Enjolras was never one to be easily read or taken care of. Enjolras, lost memories or the whole being, would always be sullen and much complex for a person such as Éponine to comprehend. Still, there were the furrowed thick brows shadowing his indigo orbs glancing sideways at her "So I feel _Combeferre_ stirring beside me, too afraid to acknowledge the facts calmly," he darted his eyes, his eyebrows giving in to the memory of his loyal friend. Éponine felt it too, the melancholy as she darted her own daring eyes to the golden and green pillow in her hands, stroking it a bit harsher than the usual.

A dear friend, indeed, _Combeferre_ was unique to everybody. This much Éponine could say, with the few moments she shared with him – not because he wasn't at the same meetings she had joined, the ones after she finally became an official member of _L'Abaissé_, but he was the one Enjolras confided the most as his second in command (they became an army, in sorts). Therefore, Combeferre was always along the fearless leader, giving him sincere opinions about his speeches and talking at the rallies, supporting his decisions and enlightening his mind to the moments in which his temper reached higher than his rational self could.

He was also very kind to Éponine every time they would bump in each other or actually discuss about the revolution whenever Enjolras would let them discuss it – or it would end up as another speech of the fearless leader and all the others would be quiet. And there was Marius, also, filling her mind and letting her confused to focus or to stare in his handsome face for hours away.

Until someone else would come into her mind and she would have to convince herself in focusing on something else but this unproductive manners of hers.

She could never imagine Combeferre frenetic. Not at all, not _him_, and it made Éponine swallow how little she knew of those she admired so much – maybe she had been, indeed, merely their shadow for the time being.

Very probable

"Every eye was turned towards me," the golden, broken voice of the fearless leader grasped her mind from the darkness and forced herself to cling to him more, absorbing the blazing fire, the light this cracked marble man gave her – no matter how much she tried to tell herself he wasn't the same, she would listen to him and hear the schoolboy of the barricade.

So did her face turn towards him, his throat moving viciously in his thick, dry swallows and his shoulders hunching forwards once more, his fingers tapping his mouth in a rhythm she would appreciate to know as he continued to speak, his eyes darted from her to the light and back.

"I announced to all of them we were the only ones left, the people would not come as they still lived in fear," he trembled as he remembered and his eyes shut forcefully, painfully and reaching her. Enjolras, this miserable… Could she even say it was real? Could she say it wasn't, though? This Enjolras was blurring her mind more and more "And I let them go, told them to not waste lives any longer." He sighed and straightened himself, glancing upwards and taking a whole new stance to Éponine, now used to his exceedingly melancholic self. He turned his face to her, his azure eyes certain to stare intently into hers and there was a glint of admiration and defeat, the understatement she realized of the lack of information he had of his life before the barricade "Then _Gavroche_ started to sing the anthem of the _Revolution_." His voice faltered and he pursued his lips, trying to maintain himself composed as he spoke of the little boy he had barely remember who was.

Or how close he was to Éponine

As for the gamine, she was now imagining the scene she regarded as a precious memory she hadn't been a part of and didn't belong to her. Only the fact Gavroche was the one to arise those schoolboys, disappointed by the reality they wanted to change and wouldn't ever do it, singing their beautiful, clever, _foolish_ song of them, was damaging her stronghold over the feelings she felt for him being gone.

"Alone, upon the barricade," Éponine glanced once more at Enjolras, the tip of his nose reddened matching the sore eyelids, his lips trembling and the marble man had cracked the stone forting his feelings – the human inside, the being that could bleed and could commit flaws, made of flesh and blood and irrational instincts that science itself could never fully explain. The Enjolras he had very seldom shown her, still she treasured him every single moment "Singing and hoping and reminding us what we were truly fighting for…" he swallowed and shut his eyes, letting the tears roll down his face and darkening his skin through the damp path.

Only then did Éponine noticed she was overtaken by Enjolras' feelings, his face contorting and he looking away, the tears wouldn't stop forming and rolling off her eyes, the nervous hands of this broken man of marble rumbling nonstop his thighs as he thought what he would do next or what he would say – the only sound inside the room was of crumbling sheets and sorrowful, trembling and low heavenly sighs, almost as whispers as none of them knew what to say.

She was startled, to say the least, when he stood up abruptly and walked towards the window hidden by the long curtain, gripping the fabric tightly in his hands as he cried silently, not certain what he must do. Éponine was definitely bewildered when he glanced back at her, his eyes widened for a bit as he focused on her crying face, reading her like an open book as he used to – his expression realizing something he hadn't yet known, or he had forgotten.

And she knew what he remembered.

He blinked a few times and pursued his lips, swallowing and glancing his once blazing azure orbs at hers, his face manifesting the conflict inside his head if he would say anything or nothing at all about his just recall of something Éponine wasn't yet sure. He was pained, though, his stance not much better than the one he wore while sitting by her or while he spoke to Joly. He considered his silent thought for a long while and the gamine was starting to feel the darkness belonging to the quietness of his room, after all the months bounded by the light of those schoolboys and their loud, joyful voices, was gaining ground inside of her degrading self.

She was close of losing the remaining control she had over herself.

He finally decided what he had to do and lifted his face a bit higher so he could have a better look at the woman sitting in the darkness.

"I failed you so many times and you never once told me how seriously my faults were." Enjolras murmured and Éponine felt the knot in her throat not allowing her to speak anymore, through the tone of his voice as he trembled and clenched to the curtain, fighting the urge to hide, some Éponine was very intimate – she wanted to stop him there, but the emotions wouldn't allow her. She had this conversation with herself many time, once again, before deciding to come and talk to this broken man of marble.

She swallowed the knot and rushed her speak before he had thought enough of how he would continue his self-blaming rally "No… You weren't to blame…" She spoke again and he glanced at her, the bewildered expression showing Éponine what he thought of her last say and she had to think of replies for his next statements because she was dreadfully sure Enjolras would bring the fact of the contradiction she was saying to the first time they actually spoke after he forgot his memories.

"How can you say I was not to blame after I let everybody die?!" he strode towards her, his stance almost threatening as Enjolras stood in front of her, exasperation written all over his face as he gestured and spit the words accusing him violently "_Do not_ be cynical now, _Éponine_…" he warned her, furrowed eyebrows and tears pouring whilst he turned around to go back to his curtain.

Her name coming out of his mouth along such pain brought her memories, moments she treasure and wanted to keep to herself only, because she wouldn't be able to let go of him once he was aware of them again.

So Éponine pushed aside once more those thoughts as she stood up, grimace masking her face and striding behind him, nearing their distance to defend her statement.

"I'm not being cynical!" she bit back loud enough and making him turn around, his handsome face staring right back at her and inquiring an explanation "You told me yourself, you _let_ them go!" he scoffed and was about to turn around again, his eyes rolling elsewhere but her daring face. However, she stepped in the direction he darted away and he wasn't able to look away anymore "Enjolras, they didn't want to leave!" he snorted and rested his hands over his narrow hips, facing downwards and allowing his curls to fall between their gaze. She had to hunch her back forwards to attempt on finding his face "You couldn't have controlled them!"

He lifted his gaze enough to stare into her dark orbs "I could have taken _your_ _brother_ away from there" she swallowed at the mention of her relation to Gavroche and saw the opportunity to reply to Enjolras clever accusations "But I did not! I let him stay and _die_!"

"You wouldn't have changed his mind!" he scoffed once more and Éponine bit the inside of her cheeks, irritated to the indelicate manners the young man in front of her chose to use "Gavroche wouldn't leave even if you, the leader of _Les Amis_, had kicked him out!" she chose not to use the entire title of fearless leader which he would have thought of an ironical mention. He would've had turned off his attention and stopped talking to her and that she didn't want. Not now, at least. He stomped his foot and she furrowed her eyebrows "Gavroche would still go after you and would still fight for what he believed!"

"He believed in _us_, Éponine!" he replied showing his teeth whilst he spoke, a sign of his rage "He believed _Les Amis_ and he died! We _failed_ him!" she shook her head, contradicting him.

"No!" he looked away and she insisted "No! You're wrong!" his face lifted so his eyes were trailing patterns in the ceiling and the blood was boiling inside of Éponine. She had to make him believe in her, somehow, because she had just accepted this fact and she could not, _would not_ change her mind _again_. Gavroche's death couldn't hurt more than it already did, but she was proud of him because he wanted to have a better life and he died for what he believed. His death wasn't a failure to him, at least Éponine could say that much.

Gavroche wouldn't have a better life if he had survived or not joined _Les Amis_. He would've had become as somebody wicked as her father or Montparnasse, for him had been a street urchin as well, or he would've died at some freezing, next winter's night on some alleyway over the dirt cobblestones covered in snow.

"How wrong am I?!" he replied glaring back at her "He was only a child!" he demanded and she nodded, her mouth twitching and failing her control over her emotions.

"Yes, he was! He knew much more of the cruelty in the world you wanted to change than you could ever make out of your books or the little time you wasted living as one of us!" he blinked, his eyebrows following the motion of his eyelids, furrowing deeper if possible, trying to realize what she wanted to say "_Les Amis_ gave him _everything_ he never had and he hoped for a better world so his _boys_ could have a better live than he had! Yes! He hoped for others to live his dream because he knew he wouldn't make it!" Enjolras shook his head and prepared to bit back at Éponine's words, but she didn't let him "He wasn't a fool, Enjolras! Not because he was a little boy he would fool himself after being let down so many times at his short life!" he restrained his urge to interrupt her and she continued, ignoring her voice faltering "He would never believe in someone that would fail him after everything." She spoke firmly, her voice becoming grave and pushing aside the weeping tone, because it was somewhat of an instinct she acquired after living everything she lived.

Yes. She could act as the situation required, _dearest father_ taught her that among many other things she desired to get rid of after Marius and his friends entered her life – after this _man of marble_ entered her life and discovered the face behind the mask and the tricks she used. The _fearless leader_ and his abilities to notice her behind the almost flawless disguises, Éponine couldn't decide if she hated him for it or if she _enjoyed_ the particular attention Enjolras has of her.

Well, _had_ since he forgot the Enjolras he was before and the things they've lived.

He stared intently into her dark, stern orbs; she could very well see the motion between the focus in each of her eyes, the puzzled and bewildered face, and the questions pouring out of the azure in the bleakness of the room, his own doubts to the somberness of her words. The thick, blonde eyelashes almost impending his view of her and the earnest expression over his handsome, _once_ marble face.

He opened his mouth to speak, pursuing his lips and trying to make his point of view plausible to Éponine's experienced self "Still, he was only a child and I _cannot_ accept his death." He muttered and Éponine shook her head, smiling mirthlessly and she could see the irritation rising in the injured man of marble as he tightened his jaw.

"_You_ cannot accept his death?!" she pointed her finger at him as her boiling blood burned beneath her flesh "_Pardon_, _monsieur_, if I tell you there's not much you can do to change it!"

"I know!" he replied, but Éponine was much unnerved to let his nonsensical words go away with nothing.

"I was his sister and I couldn't help but accept it! Can you _believe_ in me now?!" Enjolras glanced away and groaned in pain, yet she ignored him. She was much involved in her own angered thoughts at the moment to pay attention into him "Now, will you tell me I _also_ failed him?!"

He snorted and yelled now, enraged and startling Éponine, making the young woman step back in one jump and she was much shocked to retrieve in her defending stance "I was not talking about you or Joly or the others!" her eyes were wide and he looked completely lost, terrible and someone completely different to her "Stop taking it always to your side!"

"How can we not when we were there?!" she bit back and he gasped his nostrils.

"Will you regard _my conditions_ at least once?!" Enjolras gestured to himself "I lost my memories and, when I recall anything _at all_, I acknowledge that I had sent my friends to their deaths without a second thought!" Éponine was taken aback and he found the opportunity to continue talking "How would you handle it, Éponine?! What would you do if you were in my place?!"

To that, she knew not what to answer. She should have the answer for his clever questions, to his ever so smart inquiring of the truth he wanted to exist, but wasn't possible. As the replies in her, the truth he believed in, both weren't real and not because they wanted them to be would make it happen. Oh, no. Nor did she want this truth of his, the entire blame of the deaths on the barricades over Enjolras' hurt shoulder – not only due his injuries; it wasn't his thought, at least Éponine no longer believed in that and she was certain Joly and Marius didn't believe also.

However, how to explain to someone as damaged as this cracked marble man? How to tell him people had thought on their own when he can only believe in what he sees, after he had forgotten all he had seen? How to fix him?

How to bring the Enjolras she knew back?_ The one she missed so much..._

He groaned, forcing her to get back into reality, and startling her to see the man, not the statue, losing balance and stumbling on his gracious feet, moving nearer her in a fast blur, crashing into her small, dark frame and taking her along to the granite floor.

Éponine was startled to say the least, worry growing over her face as the pain went through her body due her own injuries and the fact there was someone over her, pressing her into the floor with his unconscious body.

"Enjolras?!" she said, her voice a bit higher and shaky due their situation and her concern. His head was over her shoulder and he didn't respond her, but she knew he was at least alive since she could feel his heart beating and his breath on the flesh in her neck – which was causing chills to run up and down her spine.

Éponine cursed herself and pushed those thoughts far away to the darkest corners of her mind, and moving underneath the unconscious man, trying to get a hold of her worried self now quivering badly and not knowing what to do. She had at least to think of something, but nothing came to her mind at the moment.

There was an unconscious Enjolras on top of her, with his steady, hot breath on her neck and his golden curls tickling her face while dulling her senses with his scent, taking her to a trip back into the past he had forgotten and she decided to forgot, with his muscular, lean body over hers and this sickening disturbance of already passing through this situation…

She must forget it for once!

_Focus, Éponine!_

"Enjolras?!" she called him once more, already desperate as she made her hands reached the strong jaw and felt the heat practically burning her hands, the dampness of his face due the fever and the shock of her cold skin over his boiling marble shell.

She swallowed thickly and her chest was heavy, he couldn't have passed out like this _right now_! He _had to_ be fine!

"Joly!" she called him once, her voice hoarsely and her breathing not helping enough for it to come out as loud as she intended to. She heaved a sigh and focused on breathing before shouting again "JOLY!" there. Now he would get there at any give time.

She took a good look at the young man, turning his face towards her as if he was paying attention to her. She sighed as she ran a hand through his hair to get a better view of his countenance, in peace if not for the furrow between his thick, blonde eyebrows. Somehow, Éponine could understand a bit more this shattered man of marble and the bane he insisted in dive himself – not the way he wanted her to understand him, she would never get to know how it felt to lost the memories, still a bit more than before.

Joly arrived and jumped, startled at the doorway, yelling "_Good Lord_, what happened?!" when he spotted the couple lying on the ground. Beni was right behind him, though the butler urged for the curtains so they would examine Enjolras in a well lit room, no in his darkness.

Joly placed the arm of the unconscious man in his shoulder his weight upon his backs, the strength of the hypochondriac that Éponine only have the opportunity to acquaintance while the fleet from the barricade, carrying the bleeding and wounded golden leader, standing up and dragging Enjolras towards his bed, very carefully. Beni bent down to help Éponine stand and she accepted it, a bit dizzy from their fall, balancing herself on the old man's arms.

"What happened, Éponine?" Beni wondered carefully as he stretched an arm to keep her standing "Are you quite alright?" she nodded, letting the hair fall over her face.

"I'm fine. Enjolras," she gestured to the young man now lying on the back "Passed out while we were talking and he stumbled over me." The brunette controlled her desperate voice. She breathed deeply through her nose as Beni ordered some maid waiting at the door to bring Joly's medical bag along a jar of water and the _grisette_ bolted after the items before coming back shortly "I think due the fever, I don't know…" Éponine shook her head once more, trying to stay focused "We were arguing and he strained himself…" Joly glared at her with furrowed auburn brows, the chiding frown taking over his long face and forcing the mademoiselle to heave a sigh.

"May the _Lord_ help me with _both of you_!" he scolded, reaching his bare hands to Enjolras exposed skin and feeling his warmth. The apple green orbs were narrowed and aimed at the feisty brunette's face once more "How convenient of you to know he was feverish _after_ he collapsed over you, isn't it?!"

"I didn't start it…" Éponine begun her defenses, but her voice already sounded defeated and Beni had only the time to roll his eyes before his young master started to reproach the mademoiselle for her inappropriate manners to an injured and brain damaged man.

"Well, you were at least saner than him, but of _coarse_ you had to set fire into the hearth!" Éponine rolled her eyes and she was ever so thankful to the _grisette_ barging in the room along another lady, brining the bag and the silver tray with a jar of water and some glasses "_Merci_. You _all_ may leave." The green eyes had Éponine in sight while he spoke and gestured towards the young man.

"But I want to stay!" She tried, but Joly denied with his head and Beni stepped between the arguing remaining Les Amis.

"Morrice will work better alone and I would like to have a word with you, _ma __chérie_." She pouted and tried to convince him otherwise, but the butler guided her outside Enjolras' quarters and shut the huge, heavy door closed with one hand.

She folded her arms and walked away, the butler close to her every step while the walked through the long hallways and it's large windows letting the twilight enlighten their path towards the east salon, where the butler insisted on sitting down the _gamine_ and serving her a glass of water of some forgotten jar over one table.

When she finished her first, long and thirsty sip, Beni let out a sigh along his question.

"Why did you argue, Éponine?" she glanced up at the old man and his light clothes, an unpleased expression over her face "Were you not there merely to listen from him who he remembered?" her eyes softened and her face went downwards.

"Yes, Beni, I was there only to listen to him. But he started talking nonsense about letting everyone else die and it all being his fault," she paused and glanced elsewhere, her voice low "Saying he let Gavroche die…" Beni was a clever old man and Éponine had already mentioned her brother being at the barricades along them, though she hadn't mentioning him dying.

It wasn't necessary, however. There weren't other survivors but the four of them and Beni had already figured that out.

"And you had to tell him otherwise?" he arched an eyebrow, his tone a bit crafty from Éponine's liking, forcing the young lady turning her head a bit abruptly towards the butler and glancing intently in his eyes just to know if it was or not a tricky question.

Unfortunately, she couldn't tell.

"Please, Beni…" she sighed and let down the empty glass over the table, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands "Would you skip the riddles? I'm a bit dizzy…"

"He's overly injured and recovering his memories ever so slowly, child." Sympathetic, experienced eyes over her face, his eyebrows slightly arched and half closed lids behind thick lenses. She blinked slowly, feeling tired while being scolded, even if it was the most subtle reprehension she would ever listen to in her entire life "He feels guilty because he's alive and the few friends he remembered are dead. He thinks he was the only one leading the revolution and he cannot rely on what you, or Morrice for the matter, would tell him because you could very well fool him." She widened her eyes, almost insulted by the older man's words. And Beni lifted his hands in defense, signalizing for her to wait until he was done speaking "I'm not saying you would, but it's a possibility that goes through the head of one as lost as him." Éponine nodded, running her hands through her hair and holding them behind her back, puffing good-naturedly and regarding every word of the wise gentleman "I understand you wanted to help him. However, I insist for you to regard his health and wait until his is fully healed of the wound in his head to discuss the matters of the barricade."

She stood up and Beni stepped aside, not expecting her sudden movement, not darting his eyes away from her scrawny face "If we wait too long, it might be too late to save him from his guilty." Beni heaved a sigh and said nothing "Although, you're wrong, Beni." The butler furrowed his graying eyebrows to her reply and narrowed his eyes to her quote. She gazed back, almost blankly into his eyes and showing the somberness in the soul of this mademoiselle – the gamine before the barricades, the lies blending in the truth she believed "I didn't do it to help Enjolras. I did it for myself."

And Beni was much shocked to reply or complain about her leaving the salon while speaking to him, turning her back and walking away in her own gracious, street like way, to remember her about dinner or to put some sense into her burdened mind.

He merely sighed with bounded hands, not knowing what to do to stop that mademoiselle of accomplishing her self-dooming.

_Would Éponine ever be saved form her own punishment?_

This time, Beni could only hope and pray for it.

* * *

_"_Mon ami_," a voice jested into his silent surroundings, the darkness giving in to candle lights slowly along the relaxing, warm colors of the walls and the dark wooden furniture spread through the room he was much more familiarized than his own at Joly's winter house. There were shadows of young men, once more faceless phantoms of his past, sitting on the chairs and standing by the tables, motioning and talking mutely among themselves, interacting without Enjolras and leaving him to the only, still blurred face sitting on the table across from him. Dark brown, unruly hair following the shape of his head, pale skin and somewhat of a smirk over his yet hazy countenance; Enjolras could scent the liquor exhaling from the man across from him along the bottle of wine in his hand, one arm supported entirely over the table as the other hanged limply in his side, his back fully touching the backrest of his chair; there was a green waistcoat, almost open, over the linen unbuttoned shirt revealing the dark chest hair highlighting his skin and the fact the room was much heated for even Enjolras to keep his ivory shirt buttoned. The jester, the skeptic and the ironical artist in one tone giving away, finally, the fully shape of his face and the emerald green orbs that teased the leader much more than he would ever admit. And there was the name already in Enjolras mind, the name of the one that had the ability - if it could ever be regarded as a good deed - to unnerve the fearless leader of _Les Amis de L'Abaissé_. _Grantaire_ was there, his face in some playful scolding expression towards an annoyed monsieur Enjolras along his papers spread over the table "You know nothing of women."_

_The blonde revolutionary felt his azure orbs rolling elsewhere, the inconvenience of their topic of conversation much unnerving for the leader to mind in listening. There was no space for women, or a woman for the matter, in his life at the current moment and Enjolras could not careless about romantic deeds and affairs, the desire of flesh, the song of the heart among other nominations. The student had a goal in his life and he was glad to die for his objective to be fulfilled, as French were glad to die for love._

The love of Enjolras' life was Patria and she needed to be well cared, not only for him because he could not be able to give her all she deserved, but also his countrymen, for his comrades, and transforming her into the fairest and righteous, fierce woman she was destined to be.

_He scoffed and glared dully at the inebriate brunette man across from him, far enough to prevent any sort of violence of Enjolras' part – he wasn't a rampant man; however, Grantaire did have the skill, or demoniac power, to let the bold leader of _Les Amis _out of it._

_"You should stop drinking while we discuss _politics_." The blonde answered, heaving a sigh and waiting for a reply of Grantaire, never looking away of his pesky, glassy green orbs._

_He shrugged and drank some of the wine right from the bottle, not dropping a gout "It's the only way you'll ever listen a word from me about _politics_." He smirked to a grimacing Enjolras, resisting the urge to roll over his orbs once more "And, I'll do you a favor and admit it," the blonde man arched a thick eyebrow to the canny brunette statement "You and _your_ passion for _Patria_ make anyone want to talk about it," Grantaire shrugged again lying his arm over the table and leaning in so the leader would hear him better "Some do want to discuss it with you, though the rest are here to argue with you and try to convince you how foolish of an idea is your revolution to change this beyond repair country." Now Enjolras was frowning and gasping his nostrils, not pleased at all what he listened from the drunkard – yet, this wouldn't be the first time. For the matter, Grantaire was one of those who would attempt his best to argue with the leader to put some sense into his mind with the words of the revolution leading to nothing. Somehow, the drunkard, art student continued to attend the meetings and the rallies, to support his friends (most of the times)._

_There was not a single soul that understood what went on through Grantaire's mind. _

_"Though, you know so much, _Man of Marble_," Enjolras narrowed his eyes to the annoying sound of his title, spotting the sly grin on his face "And you care so much for your France, you're infectious." _

_The blonde man arched an eyebrow to the drunken closure of Grantaire's speech, the brunette straightening his back and sipping from his bottle once more. A pleased expression resting in his glassy emerald eyes "I will understand it as a compliment." The brunette made a dramatic gesture, bowing and nodding, his curly brown hair falling over his face, though being quickly pulled backwards "Would you care to continue our discussion, Grantaire?"_

_He attempted his best, though the brunette merely grinned widely, showing his yellowed teeth and his flushed cheeks to his shaking head, denying his leader's request._

_"Now we talk about your lack of knowledge of the opposite sex." Enjolras rolled his orbs and stood up exhausted and bored by that conversation, walking away, yet, followed by the drunkard who quickly slipped an arm through his shoulder and hugged the golden haired man in red, striding clumsily to their unknown destination "Think with me, _my marble friend_." The blonde grunted and clenched his jaw "Why you discuss something you know so much about and ran away of the other matter as the devil runs from the cross?!" Enjolras stared daggers at Grantaire's smug smiling face._

_"I do not_ run away _from the_ matter_!" the golden man replied and the inebriated friend arched an eyebrow, mocking his annoyance "The_ matter _simply is not as significant as the other!"_

_"So you admit you don't like to talk of things you don't know?" Enjolras shrugged of Grantaire's arm and snorted, irritated._

_Of course, the drunkard wasn't doing much to hide his pleasure in having this reaction from his marble friend._

_"I do not enjoy talking about deeds less regarding from our goal." Enjolras replied sharply, turning towards the table of his friends – now almost distinct from the other shadows._

_Grantaire pulled his arm and turned the blonde young man back to face him, his eyes discontented at the abrupt turn and his arms folding over his chest. His stance of irritability warning the others to keep their distance from him – everyone who had some sense in their minds and love for their lives, but the inebriated brunette in green waistcoat._

_"All matters are significant, _mon ami_. That's why they're called _matters_!" Enjolras gritted his teeth to the sagacious answers of his artistic friend "Well, having a woman in our group and not knowing a little bit about the general is a _matter_, _mighty leader_!" Grantaire bit back bluntly and Enjolras had to recollect his thoughts to remember that, indeed, the drunkard was speaking the truth. _

_There was a woman in their revolutionary group and the woman wasn't a common _grisette_ as the usual who frequented the _Café_ along their friends – she was a gamine, the most miserable being he had ever met his entire life, and she had a background much mysterious to all of their group since she would only appear when Pontmercy was around. Also, she was hesitant to join them, almost afraid. She was much similar to a shadow and quiet, cautious to every sound she heard, every face she saw and every place she went._

_Grantaire continued to speak without the authorization of his golden friend, looking pleased to the pensive Enjolras in front of him "Now, one does not _simply_ speak his revolutionary ideas to a _mademoiselle_ as speaking to his friends!" The golden haired man rolled his eyes and let his head go downwards, massaging his temples and folding his eyes, paying attention and being bothered by the drunkard "Just to remind you, _Monsieur Marbre_, Éponine _is_ a _woman_."_

_Enjolras glared indignantly at the smaller brunette, the green eyes clearly enjoying torturing the fierce leader "_I know that!_" he blurted, clutching his jaw._

_The inebriate man nodded mockingly, making somewhat of a grimacing, understanding façade "Good. One step ahead then." Enjolras snorted and stomped his feet, keeping his hands in his pockets and glancing elsewhere but Grantaire's jesting eyes "She might be helping us now, only God knows her reasons," the leader blinked his eyes to the lack of faith of his annoying friend, though let the drunkard speak "But if you keep demanding her participation, her ideas, her presence in our meetings with all your…" Grantaire gestured to the whole Enjolras, thinking of a proper word to nominate the young man "_Marble ruthlessness_, as you do to the rest of us," the blonde gentleman snorted again, preparing to leave "You will loose her." _

_That captivated his attention and Enjolras glared frowning at the drunk ami, furrowed blonde eyebrows and piercing indigo orbs demanding answers from the inebriate brunette, who seemed unfazed with his sternness._

_Losing Éponine? How could that possibly reach and appall the leader? _

_He wasn't certain, but Grantaire's word weighted over him somehow._

_"What do you mean?" there was this mockingly roll of glassy emerald orbs to the confusion inside his friend's mind and the drunkard sipped from the bottle in his hand, complaining of it being empty and leaving it over the table next them, a bit bothered by that "She has never compromised with us for us to lose her, Grantaire."_

_The brunette shook his head once more, nonconformist to Enjolras' statement as a small smirk was placed over his blushing cheeks "Then, you cannot affirm Éponine is one of us without a proper, classy invitation from the mighty man of marble?!" _

_Enjolras warned him through the azure orbs and cocked his head sideways, a dreadful expression over his face "Do not put words into my mouth, Grantaire." _

_The brunette shrugged, gesturing with his empty hands and folding his arms over his green waistcoat, inclining his shoulders backwards to confront the marble leader "You're using her good will and you don't even mind about it!"_

_Now Enjolras was infuriated._

_"I'm not using her!" he said through his gritted teeth, leaning forward in a threatening stance._

_"Of course you are!" Grantaire threw his hands in the air, scowling "She's everything you needed to reach the people!" he mocked again, counting on his fingers while accusing Enjolras "She's Parisian; she's miserable; she's a woman!" _

_The leader was boiling in anger "If she hadn't been here, I would have thought of something else for our plan to work!" Grantaire gestured back at him, a mirthless laughter in his voice._

_"Even her ideas you used and you say she hasn't compromised with us!" he mimicked the voice of Enjolras._

_Now the blonde man would tell the drunkard what he did think of their female acquaintance, in a low and unnerved voice "I do not know her as I know you or Combeferre or Courfreyac or Pontmercy!" Grantaire rolled his eyes, as if he listened to the most absurd lot "She stays days without contacting us and she suddenly appears, she only talks when she feels offended or when it is required – and when the subject is not appealing to her, she will not grace us with her words! There are moments in which we are talking and, she is in the middle of a sentence, she simply stops speaking, as if she had forgotten what she was talking about or as if she was telling some dangerous secret!" The brunette wore an impatient façade over his jesting façade "She is free to come and go as she pleases, yet, every time she returns here, she has another bruise and she is distant!" there. Grantaire was now thinking over Enjolras words and the leader took the little attention of his inebriated friend to close his speech "She is not attached to us and she will not let us help her."_

_Grantaire gazed at him, arching a teasingly brow "She isn't getting attached to _you_, Enjolras." The leader furrowed his eyebrows and the brunette sighed heavily, patting the friend in the shoulder "And I have already told you the reason." Enjolras frowned even more, feeling a vein in his forehead pulsating painfully._

_The golden haired man pitched the bridge of his nose, relaxing his eyebrows and calming his temper because he should not mind about Grantaire speaking his drunken opinions. _

_He rubbed his face with his hand after that and opened his azure orbs to meet the inebriate friend, a bit frustrated and disappointed for the lack of answers of his leading friend, almost crestfallen._

_Enjolras sighed "What is it?"_

_"I was expecting more of our conversation." The drunkard admitted, shrugging and patting the leader's shoulder before leaving "Only think about it, Enjolras." The blonde was ready to roll his eyes, but there was soberness at the inebriate green eyes that kept the marble man staring at him "She has attended to the meetings more often and she is always at the rallies. She showed you a way to be closer to the people you want to help and we all regard her as our _ami_; except you." _

_Enjolras nodded, promising to think about it once he had the time and Grantaire merely shook his head, laughing good-naturedly, walking backwards and shouting at his marble leader._

_"Let her in, Marble Man!"_

* * *

His orbs were heavy and his blonde eyelashes were in the way of his glassy orbs, relaxed through the darkness inside his room. He could feel the lump behind his ear throbbing, though it was not unbearable, and he felt some of his other bruises through his torso stinging. He wandered his eyes through the darkness he had become used at his long, grieving day, feeling there was something different from his usual room.

Well, Joly was there, sleeping at the couch with his book over fallen over his chest and half of his large body off the furniture, his foot and hand brushing the carpet.

That scene made the marble leader let the smallest of smirks grace his lips, amused and grateful for the gentle hypochondriac to have come to him. Now he recalled some of the aspects that had brought him to where he stood, or lied – since the moment Joly came in his room and Éponine contradicted his guilty to his unbearable injury forcing the young man to fall and pass out (not precisely at that order).

One more memory, one more friend recalled again, one more name to mourn, one more face to miss, one more voice to hear. Enjolras' friends gone, whipped off a world he slowly remembered and rapidly loathed, for it has taken away those who cared the most for him and he cared the most for.

The drunkard Grantaire could have been insufferable for him at the past, some moments – _most of them_ – still, he was a great friend and he didn't deserve to die at their barricade, at their revolution, as he used to say and Éponine also did, which lead to nothing.

Indeed. Nothing had changed and it had already been two weeks. How could the people not have stirred after all those lives lost for them?! How could they not take their pain, their grief, their mourn, and turn it into some will power to become free at last?!

As to what the inebriated friend had told him about Éponine being attached to the others and not to him, to him not letting her in… Now that Enjolras had recalled a bit of his past, he could imagine all sorts of situations surrounding them at the moment and one of them was somewhat of a vengeance for neglecting her at their group, for whatever foolish reason he had not come to recall yet. She was already his friend, already one he cared for much more than he would ever admit to mind, and he was confused to whatsoever deed regarding her to not let her get attached to him.

And there was the voice of his inebriate friend, much amused and frivolous for Enjolras taste, the silence disturbed by his mocking words that would only confirm his thoughts and allow the man of marble to loose himself inside his nostalgic and melancholic, short memories.

"_When you let her in, she will never get out. That's how it works, mon ami._"

So there was no other hypothesis – she _would_ get in, somehow, at any time.

He only wondered if she would let him in.


End file.
